Proof Positive 5552c

Other books by Joyce Richards Case Prichard Family Series

Paper Dreams (soft cover and audio)

Pressing on with Hope

ages Between the Columns

PRICHARD FAMILY SERIES PROOF POSITIVE

Volume Four

Joyce Richards Case

Copyright © 2017 Joyce Richards Case.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Winston Prichard, the man with the Paper Dream, writes newspaper columns some thirty years after the events in the timeline of the story. They are interspersed throughout the fictional Prichard Family Series. Looking back over his long career, he is certain the Lord gave him the desire of his heart to be a newspaper man. Winn recounts current events and ties it together with faith that Proof Positive, God loves us unconditionally.

Each column ends with the printer’s symbol -30-. It is traditionally used by journalists to indicate the end of a story. With the backward reading type tumbling out of the linotype one article after another, there had to be a noticeable indication of the end of each story. Also in a telegraphed message, -30- was the telegraphers’ code meaning the completion of a message.

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks ed in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan 1663 Liberty Drive Bloomington, IN 47403 www.westbowpress.com 1 (866) 928-1240

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-8978-2 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-5127-8979-9 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-5127-8980-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017908603

WestBow Press rev. date: 06/07/2017

Contents

CAST OF CHARACTERS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

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42

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Dedicated to Cecile I finally got a sister when my brother married you. I miss our fun times together.

Author’s note: Cecile took her journey home to be with the Lord on December 12, 2016 before she knew I dedicated this book to her. I’m glad she was aware of how much she meant to me.

And hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us. Romans 5:5

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Winston (Winn) Randolph Prichard—Winn’s desire to publish his own newspaper has finally come to fruition after years of failure. Though a kindhearted, respected man in the community, he is a binge drinker, much to the chagrin of … Hope (Sugar) Davidson Prichard—Winn’s wife is a woman of faith, determined to honor her marriage and remain by Winn’s side. His drinking benders are the nemesis to her happiness and an embarrassment to … William (Billy) Foster Prichard—Winn and Hope’s oldest son demonstrates maturity and a take-charge attitude at a young age. He is fourteen months older than … Martin (Marty) Hollis Prichard—A happy-go-lucky boy who bounces along life with a natural talent for humor and demonstrates inborn responsibility for his little sister … Dove Lynnette Prichard—The little girl prayed for who was born five years after the death of Mary Jane, the baby of the family. Dove is twelve years younger than Billy, eleven younger than Marty.

Winn’s family —

Priscilla Beatrice Prichard—Winn’s widowed mother is a spoiled, selfish woman. She is dependent upon her children who strive to fulfill her expectations and yet Priscilla consistently finds fault. She is intolerant of everyone’s behavior, especially her absentee son … Luther Bernard Prichard—Three years younger than Winn, Luther is a troubled individual. He has been incarcerated for robbery and has never held steady

employment. He shows up on his family’s doorstep when he’s down on his luck. The one who seems to miss him most is … Edward (Eddie) Thornton Prichard—Winn’s brother, twelve years younger, is a comionate, shy man, but struggles with mental limitations. Never married, he lives with his mother, who takes advantage of his child-like desire to please.

Hope’s family—

Hollis Davidson—Hope’s papa is uneducated and covers his lack of self-esteem by portraying a gruff exterior. Hollis has never been a good provider; he works, sometimes, as a grave digger. He has a soft spot for Hope, his ‘Sugar’, and seldom lets it be known, but he couldn’t get along without … Octavia Jane (Tave) Davidson—Hope’s mama is a tenderhearted woman with little formal education, but she is a fountain of biblical knowledge and common sense. She keeps the family afloat by raising hogs and selling her handmade willow cane furniture. She and Hollis live in Hempstead, Texas near … Iris and Delbert Jones—Hope’s older sister and brother-in-law have a small farm and are the parents of three boys. Hope and Iris are close but very different and both adore their brother and sister-in-law … Buford and Fayella Davidson—Buford is a carpenter and truck driver. They have a strawberry farm in east Texas. Fayella is a sweet, Christian woman who longs for a child. They dote on … Betsy Davidson—Hope’s younger sister is an outgoing and personable girl who wants to be just like Hope, but is in constant conflict with … Pearl Davidson—Hope’s youngest sister is shy and withdrawn with a jealous streak toward her sisters.

RICHLAND RECORDER

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, July 6, 1972

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

Observations of an Octogenarian

Hope and I observed our forty-fourth wedding anniversary on the Fourth of July surrounded by our children and grandchildren. That evening, in the quiet of our home, we listened to fireworks resounding from every direction celebrating Independence Day. America fought for freedom long before that glorious day when the Liberty Bell rang in 1776. Veterans of WWI have faded from this life. Many of us have memories of WWII. Veterans have different recollections than those of us who witnessed effects on the home front. Soon after the brave survivors of WWII limped home, the icy chill of the Cold War came nipping at our heels. Things remained fairly peaceful until the Korean Conflict began brewing in Asia. Shortly after successfully untangling from involvement in Korea, America found herself enmeshed in the Vietnam War. Tensions were not limited to Vietnam, but were intensified by the threat of the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Amidst all, the skies over America still light up with the celebration of freedom in this great land. My chest swells with pride to see our flag waving and a lump forms in my throat when I hear Kate Smith sing Irving Berlin’s “God Bless America.” During WWII, Hope and I had three small children and published a newspaper in Woodsboro, Texas. Young men marched off to Europe and the Pacific. To coin a phrase, we truly felt we were between the devil and the deep blue sea. The tension was building with each devastating report of Hitler’s aggression across Europe and attacks upon our ships as we maintained neutrality. Unrest escalated in our relations with Japan as we resisted their imperial dominance of the Pacific. The initial shock of the Pearl Harbor attack was staggering under the burden of inevitable participation in a war on the other side of the world. All but one member of Congress voted in favor to retaliate, and Roosevelt signed a declaration of war on December 8, 1941. Families were still reeling from the Great Depression. Parents worried their sons would be drafted. Factories were faced with vacant positions. Children were fearful of airplanes that may be carrying bombs to blow up their bedrooms. With progression of the war, bravery, faith, and perseverance prevailed on each front. The motto “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without” was adopted. Women took over factory work. There were metal drives to make defense equipment. Focusing less on their fear, children grew up quickly, taking on responsibility. In general, people turned to God. On a personal note, Hope and I never missed a publication. At times, we tearfully wrote news of national and local loss. We savored the bond with each other and walked a closer walk with the Lord. Our sons, Billy and Marty, were impressionable pre-teens who stood tall in the face of viewing newsreels at the movies that conjured fear in all our hearts. Our daughter, Dove, was born in October 1941. She brought a ray of sunshine and hope to our little family, a realization that life still goes on amid chaos. A woman now, with a family of her own, Dove still has her first gift which remains, a treasured keepsake. It is a quarter given to her on the day of her birth by my barber. It was the very

coin I paid him for a shave in January, the first money he took in that year. That thoughtful gesture has not been forgotten. May America’s banner ever wave over the land of the free. The Prichard family salutes the veterans and those who paid the ultimate price for us. That’s -30-.

1

Woodsboro, Texas The evening of December 7, 1941 —

T he night sky was cloudless. Moonlight created eerie shadows in the shape of stalking soldiers. A backward glance assured Marty that Mom and Pop were within sight. He stretched his steps to match Billy’s as they walked toward home from church. “Ya think those kami—kamikaz—whatchamacall–‘um are gonna fly over here, Billy?” Billy tossed a confident look toward his younger brother. “Shucks, no, Marty. We’re too far away. Our guys are on to ‘um now. They’ll shoot ‘um down before their planes could make it to West Texas.” “That’s what I was thinkin’.” Marty flashed his ready smile and ran ahead to the newspaper office door. Billy looked up at the heavens, frosted with stars. He shivered. The celestial brightness seemed to meld into one huge mass of illumination. It’s the German U-boats I’m thinking about. They could be sitting out there in the Gulf right now. His large brown eyes searched the vacant lot next to the print shop. I sure hope God answers Pastor Goodman’s prayer about protecting us from the Nazis and the Japanese. Inside the screen door, Marty twisted the tarnished front door-knob to no avail. Billy said, “Let me get it, Mart. You have to twist the knob and pull up on it at the same time, ?”

Each time Winn saw The Woodsboro News sign hanging over their porch, a spark of pride ignited in his soul. “Turn on the lights, Billy.” Winn held Hope’s

elbow as she stepped onto the low wood platform that stretched across the front of their shop. The sleeping baby in her arms was wrapped in the soft crocheted blanket Grandma Davidson made. “You’re shivering, Sugar. Hurry inside. I’ll have the stove fired up in no time.” Winn rushed to open the outside screen door the boys had allowed to slam shut. Billy pulled several long cords, lighting the way as he dashed around the front counter, weaving a path around work-tables and presses, and into the living quarters behind a partition. “Get some more kindling, Marty.” “There’s already some in there.” He dashed toward their bedroom. “Not enough.” Billy opened the curved door of the potbelly stove. Winn plopped his hat on the rack. “Never mind, boys. It’s been a hard day. Just get ready for bed. I’ll take care of the stove.” He stepped out of the kitchen door onto the stoop and grabbed an arm’s load of sticks and apple box strips from the wood box. The stove stood in the center of the large open room that served as the kitchen, dining area, and bedroom for Hope and Winn. He tossed in the wood, stoked the fire, and shut the door. Welcome heat immediately billowed out of the black vents. Still holding Dove Lynette, Hope kicked off her shoes and slid her aching feet into slippers. “Ah, first things first.” In the children’s walled-off bedroom, she settled the baby in her crib while Marty and Billy prepared for bed. They jumped under the quilts and waited for their mother to listen to their prayers. Hope sat on the side of their bed and gazed for a long moment at their freshly scrubbed faces. She pushed a strand of light brown hair from Billy’s brow. “You’re thinking about all those people in Pearl Harbor, aren’t you, Mom?” She nodded. “Yes, and their loved ones waiting for word from them.” She kissed Marty just before his eyelids lost the battle to stay awake. “I’m also thinking about how blessed we are to be together in a safe place.” Her lips brushed Billy’s cheek. He said, “Hawaii is where the navy sent Harold and Harvey. I’m going to pray for them every day.” Her stomach tightened. She forced a tired smile. “I’m praying for them too, Billy, and for their mother and little sister. I hope word comes soon that the boys

are safe and sound.” She turned off the light and left their door ajar. Two mugs were on the kitchen table. The radio volume was low. Hope recognized Tommy Dorsey’s orchestra playing “I’ll Never Smile Again.” Winn set a pan in the sink and ran water in it. “I reheated the cocoa, Sugar. There was just enough left for us. Get ready for bed. I’ll bring it to you.” Hope sighed and stood beside the table. “What a sad song to be playing tonight —‘I’ll never smile again until I smile at you.’ I imagine many people are wondering if they’ll ever see their loved one if they’re out in the Pacific somewhere.” She unfastened her belt and slid it through the loops of her dark blue dress. “Billy said he’d pray for the Parks boys. Their mother thought they’d be safe when they were sent to Pearl Harbor, away from the fighting in Europe.” Hope went to their bedroom nook and turned down the chenille spread. “It was a wonderful thing to see so many people at church tonight.” Winn set her mug of hot liquid on the bedside table. “Folks feel the need to gather with others in times of crisis.” He took a cautious sip of his. “Mmm, it’s good and hot.” “I hope they came to seek the Lord and not just their neighbors.” He sat in a straight-back chair beside the bed. “I’ve been mulling it over in my mind, trying to find the words to write about it in this week’s column. Honestly, Sugar, I’ve never seen anything like it.” She slipped on her cotton gown, sat on the bed, and began brushing her light brown hair. “It reminded me of how people came together for the swap day you organized in Humble during the Depression. People came from all around; it helped them know they weren’t alone.” He nodded. “In a way, it was like that. In Humble, folks came to swap day and brought things to trade for something they needed. But tonight, after hearing about the attack at Pearl Harbor, people came with heavy hearts, and I suspect, fear as well, to seek God for comfort.” He stretched his long legs and crossed his ankles. “I felt a real unity of spirit there.” Taking a sip of cocoa, Hope studied Winn’s face. She imagined wheels racing behind his eyes, so alive with thought. She had seen that look many times before when he was intently conjuring ideas to form an editorial. “I think some people

there tonight probably hadn’t been in church for years—if ever.” A smile crossed her lips. “Sheriff Bagley stood in the back like he might race out the door if there was an altar call.” She finished her drink and set the mug on the table before seeking comfort under the cover. “I’m amazed your mother called Pastor Goodman this afternoon to pray with her.” Standing, Winn picked up her empty cup. “That was a surprise. She’s been more fidgety than normal about the war in Europe and the reports of Nazi groups here in the States. News of the Japanese attack today must’ve been the thunder that made her run for cover.” Hope yawned. “Thank the Lord she knew who to run to. I’ve prayed for a miracle to soften her heart, but I didn’t know it would take such a devastating event to do it.”

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.

—Psalm 46:1

2

K eeping his morning ritual, Winn hurried to the depot early Monday. It was a few minutes ahead of schedule for the train from Corpus to whiz by. The telegraph operator, Leroy, stood on the platform filling a cigarette paper with Duke’s Mixture. “Mornin’, Winn. Boy, oh boy, that was somethin’ out in the Pacific, huh?” “Yes, a real tragedy. Has any news come in over the wire this morning?” “Nope, I thought the wire would be buzzin’ last night, but old man Talbot said the office was quiet as a tomb.” Pulling the string of his tobacco pouch with his teeth, he closed it and stuffed it in his flannel shirt pocket. After an experienced lick of his tongue across the paper, Leroy rolled it and placed it between his lips where it dangled until lit. Three blasts in secessions of threes proclaimed the locomotive was on the way. To Winn’s ears it sounded like, Here I come, here I come, here I come, louder and louder. With the precision of a sharpshooter’s bulls-eye, the bundle of newspapers made a thud on the platform in the spot where it hit every morning. The waiting mail hook standing close to the track was also obliged with a canvas bag of postal materials. Winn’s stomach twitched with the crescendo of the engine. He breathed deeply when the roar dissipated. Leroy picked up the bundle and carried it to the bench where he quickly severed the twine with his pocket knife. “Here ya go, Winn. You always get the first Corpus Christi Caller.” Winn read the headline in large, bold font across the front page, “Japanese Attack Pearl Harbor.” Listening to the devastating news on the radio yesterday had sickened him; now reading it brought heartfelt pain. He caught sight of a car pulling up to the side of the station. He walked toward it as a woman got out. “Hello, Mrs. Parks. Any news from Harold and Harvey?” He held out a helping hand as she reached the step to the platform. Her hand was shaking as she took his. “No, Mr. Prichard. I want to read about

the attack in the paper. I’ve been listening to the radio most of the night. I wish I had a phone.” “It’ll probably be a while before the boys can get word to you. Transmitting wires are more than likely tied up with military communications and in some areas, may be down completely.” “You’re right, I know, but I hoped ….” Her face mirrored a combination of exhaustion and worry. Winn gave his paper to her. A soft moan escaped her lips when she read the headline. She turned toward her car. Winn steadied her with a hand under her elbow. “Folks are praying for them and you, Mrs. Parks.” “I’m grateful for that. Thank you, Mr. Prichard. I might stop by the telephone office and talk to Rosalie about having a phone installed. I don’t know how I would let the boys know right away if I get a phone. They know to call Mr. Sanders next door; I can give them the number when they call there.” Winn opened the car door. She slipped in, nodded her thanks, and slowly drove onto the gravel road. Winn stepped to the bench, picked up another copy, and flipped coins for both papers on the stack. “Do me a favor, Leroy, and give me a call if any newsworthy wires come in.” The young man straightened his slouch and saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.” Tipping two fingers to the brim of his hat, Winn headed to the print shop. His feet knew the way as he scanned the news, discovering there was nothing about the attack he hadn’t heard on the radio. He let the kitchen door slam behind him. “Hey, Sugar. Hiya, boys.” Marty said, “Hi, Pop. Mom’s reading somethin’ Billy wrote.” Billy shot Marty a look of promised retaliation. Winn folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. “Is there something you need help with for school, Son?” “No, Pop. Marty grabbed my notebook and showed it to Mom.” Billy picked up his lunch sack from the counter. “We need to go, we’ll be late.”

Hope handed the Big Chief tablet to Billy. “I’m sorry, if it was something you didn’t want anyone to read. You have a gift of expressing yourself. Don’t be embarrassed to share your feelings, I couldn’t write mine as well as you.” Winn looked from one to the other. Billy grabbed the tablet, juggled a couple of school books and his lunch sack. He glanced at his daddy before opening the door. “Aw, you can tell Pop.” Marty followed him out the door mimicking Woody the Woodpecker. “T-t-that’s all folks.” Turning to Hope, Winn said, “What was that about?” She picked up the boys’ cereal bowls and set them in the dishpan. “Billy tried to hide something he wrote in his tablet. You know Marty. He grabbed it from Billy, ran in here, and handed it to me. He probably thought Billy was writing a note to give Ramona Riley.” “Ramona? He’s sweet on the Riley girl?” “That’s what Marty reports. But it wasn’t a note to anyone. He was just writing his thoughts.” Her hands swept across her apron. “He wrote something like, ‘a lot happened yesterday. Japan bombed our ships and killed our soldiers and lots of people. I don’t understand why, but I know I’ll never forget it.’ He wrote it so much better, though.” Half leaning, half sitting on the table, Winn’s head tilted down. “Billy’s thoughts run deep for a twelve-year-old.” “He’s a sensitive boy.” Nodding at the paper under his arm, she said, “Anything new in the paper?” A cry from the children’s room pulled her away. “Okay, Dove, I know you’re hungry.” He followed Hope and when she picked up the baby, he leaned over to plant a kiss on Dove’s cherub cheek. “How’s our little girl this morning?” A bright smile was his answer. The front office door bell jangled with the arrival of Eddie. “It’s o-only me.” Winn said to Hope, “Uh-oh, it’s not been a good morning at Mother’s. I can tell

by his voice.” He gave her a quick kiss and turned to go. She said, “Leave the paper here if you’re finished with it.” He tossed it on the table and closed the partition door behind him. “Morning, Eddie. Take note I didn’t say ‘good,’ because Mother is probably riding high on that romping horse of hers. It’s either about the bombing or the taste of her coffee. Which is it?” Eddie appeared a bit disheveled. “How did y-y-ou know?” Winn walked closer and took his brother’s tie which was hanging half-mast. “I can read you like my linotype proofs. What’s her complaint this morning?” He tightened the knot of the blue and brown striped tie and straightened Eddie’s blue collar. Winn stepped back and gave an approving nod to his younger brother. Eddie ran a hand down the front of his tie. “T-thank you, Winston. Thelma barely had her apron on this morning w-when Mother berated her about not emptying the kitchen trash can Friday. B-but I emptied it Saturday.” “Conscience. You’d think the Pearl Harbor attack yesterday would overshadow a trifle like an unemptied trash can.” “You know Mother. She won’t tolerate negligence. Poor Thelma is used to her, b-but I could tell she was miffed.” Winn picked up his notepad, and stuck a pencil in his shirt pocket. “There’s no second guessing Mother—sounds like her tyranny lives on. I had hoped after Pastor Goodman’s visit with her yesterday, there’d be a change in her disposition.” “I hoped that also. I’ll start melting the type I threw in the pot Saturday. I guess you’re going to Mac’s.” “Yep, Mac’s Diner is my best source for town news. Hope is feeding Dove right now, just knock on the door in a while if you want to see her before she takes her morning nap.” A smile creased Eddie’s amiable face. “You know I want to see that little

sweetheart.”

Experience comes from yesterday, today is using what we learned to get us to tomorrow which is laced with expectation.

3

A s Winn approached Mac’s, he heard raised voices coming from inside, even with the half-glass door closed on the frigid December day. Stepping into the diner, he took a welcoming whiff of coffee. The first greeting was the familiar whistle of Jack, the myna bird. Winn leaned toward the cage and whistled a reply. Sam Benson, Winn’s landlord, sat on a stool at the counter and turned. “All right, here’s the man who has the answer.” Winn plopped his hat on the rack and slipped off his coat. “Only if you ask the right question. I have a limited supply of answers—especially this morning.” Roger, the Codger, the most argumentative of the group, motioned to Winn. “Come over here and sit by me. It’ll be even, two against two. Mac and Sam say Roosevelt knew nothing of the attack. I say he did.” Winn said, “Well, I’ll sit by you, Codger, but what makes you think FDR could’ve been aware of Japan’s plan to bomb a U.S. territory. He would’ve known a lot of our ships were in the harbor.” Roger pounded the counter, his fork jumped and clattered in his plate. “I shoulda known. You jaybirds always sit on the same wire. How in God’s deep blue sea could a huge operation like that be kept under wraps? Hundreds—I don’t know, maybe thousands of plans and messages had to be flyin’ back and forth for months. Don’t ya think it leaked out?” Mac set a mug of coffee in front of Winn. “It’s pretty hot in here. Maybe you should’ve left the door open.” Winn smiled and nodded his thanks. Sheriff Bagley sat at a table with Horace Gillespie, the movie theater owner. Bagley said, “You might be right, Codger, I think the attack could’ve leaked out. Even if it didn’t reach Roosevelt’s ears, possibly the Brits knew and didn’t want to stop it. Churchill’s been tryin’ to get us in the war to help them out since ’39. I bet he figured if we were attacked, we’d have to fight Japan and their allies—

and Italy.” Roger nodded. “You’re not wearin’ that badge for nothin’, Sheriff.” He squinted at Winn and pointed to Bagley. “Ya see there. That man has some smarts. He knows some of them fat cats in high places was in on it to get us in that-there godawful war.” Mr. Sanders, Woodsboro’s only taxi driver, was alone at a corner table. He stood and ambled toward the cash . “Seems to me y’all are way off base.” Bagley’s cup stilled midway to his mouth. Gillespie turned an ear toward Sanders as did Mac and other customers. Sanders went on. “In my way of thinking—the tragedy happened, regardless of who was privy to the plan. It doesn’t do any good to argue about it. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m more apt to be of a mind our conversation should be about those who need our prayers.” He looked around at his silent audience. After digging in his pocket, he put some coins on top of the . “The President has some tough decisions to make now.” He stepped to the hat rack and chose his sweat stained cap with Taxi etched across the front. Winn stood. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Sanders. But, you know Codger and Sam start their day with disagreeing about anything from the weather to the price of eggs. The rest of us are subject to jump in just to make the morning interesting. I think I can speak for all of us by saying our hearts are in the right place. The gravity of the situation affects all of us.” Sanders screwed his cap on and patted Winn’s shoulder. “Aw, I know that, Mr. Prichard. I guess I’m just feeling a little raw right now. I can’t get my mind off Harold and Harvey, wondering if they’re all right. You know the Parks are my neighbors. I watched those boys grow up. I taught ‘um how to drive.” There was a catch in his voice, he glanced around the diner. “Sorry.” Sam said, “Nothing to be sorry about. Don’t mind us. We’re concerned about the Parks boys, too.” When the door closed behind Sanders, the group stared out the large windows, watching the elderly man plod toward his aged cab. Winn returned to the stool. “I’ll have a short stack, Mac.” “I already have ‘um on the grill.” Mac grabbed his wide spatula.

Roger slid off his stool and headed to the door. He turned back. “No matter how you slice your opinion—it’s still baloney. Roosevelt wants us to get in the fightin.” The door slammed at his retreat. Jack didn’t even whistle his goodbye. Sam turned to Winn. “FDR has got to retaliate.” “Yes, we’re in for a rough time ahead.” Winn studied his coffee cup for a moment. “I don’t think Codger has heard from his son lately.” Mac set a plate of pancakes, grilled to a golden perfection, in front of Winn. “No. As far as he knows, Wayne’s still flying from England straight into who knows what kind of danger over . Roger has been riled ever since Wayne ed the RAF in Canada.” Mr. Gillespie pulled money out for his breakfast. “Roger’s been a barking dog ever since I’ve known him, but there’s not a mean streak in him. When I see the newsreels every night, I think of Wayne and wonder if he’s flying the plane they show dropping bombs like hailstones. Roger sees those Movie-Tone films just like we do. You know it preys on his mind. I doubt he gets much sleep.” Mac and the customers nodded. The bird whistled as Bagley and Gillespie went out the door. After his breakfast, Winn went about gathering copy from his usual rs. The wind bullied Winn’s lightweight coat with gusts of heaviness bogging his steps as well as his demeanor. Main Street was unusually subdued, but several cars were parked in front of the bank. Inside there was a line at both tellers’ cages. Winn took off his hat and bid monotone greetings to acquaintances on his way to Eugene Upton’s office. He peered through the windowed door and knocked. The bank president’s bid of entry was tinged with his usual impatience. Winn said, “Good morning. There’s quite a crowd out there.” In his brisk manner, Upton said, “There will be no ad, Prichard. People are drawing their money out like there’s no tomorrow. They’re acting like Corpus Christi Bay was bombed.” “You can’t blame folks for being concerned. The best thing for all of us to do is carry on as usual. The bank ad is a regular in the News and people will notice if it’s not there. Withholding your weekly ad would bring suspicion the bank is faltering.”

Mr. Upton’s mother, a petite dwarf, breezed in the office in time to hear their comments. “Of course, our ad will be in this week’s paper as always. You’re correct, Mr. Prichard. We need to stand unaffected in this crisis.” From behind the desk, there was an audible groan. “But, Mother …” “Listen to me, Eugene. Your father and I didn’t waver during the Depression years and we are not going to now—Lord willing.” She dropped her purse in a chair and looked up at Winn. “We may need to make changes at some point, but until we have a better picture of the state of our nation, our ad stays put.” Her head bobbed affirmation. “This week I want it to be the same size and simply read something like, Farmers and Merchants Bank mourns with our nation the losses in Pearl Harbor. Let’s see…uh, we remain constant in our pledge of faithful service to our customers and our community.” She shook off her fur wrap. “Oh, you know how to word it Mr. Prichard.” Eugene slammed his ledger closed with exasperation. “I want to see a proof before it runs, Prichard.” Winn jotted Mrs. Upton’s words in his tablet. “Of course. I’ll bring a proof tomorrow.” He gave an appreciative smile to the smartly groomed, pint-size lady. “Thank you, Ma’am. I think I know what you want. This will be a perfect way to assure Woodsboro the bank’s standard is consistent.” Riley’s Pharmacy wasn’t as encouraging. Mr. Riley didn’t place an ad and Carter’s Dry Goods cut theirs in half. Winn was thankful that Swenson’s kept their ad because they paid with groceries. At least we’ll have food on the table this week and can go to the picture show. Sure glad the Gillespie’s barter tickets for printing the movie schedule. After several more calls, he reluctantly headed toward his mother’s house on Victoria. The sky looked bleak from his view through the stark limbs of the sycamore tree on the corner. Wonder how deep and wide Mother’s snit is today. Josephine Hargrove came out of her house as Winn turned from Main onto Victoria Street. An encounter with the woman who could find something to complain about at Heaven’s gate usually turned his morning sour. “Oooh, Mr. Prichard. It’s just awful.” “Good morning, Mrs. Hargrove. Indeed, the Japanese attack is devastating.”

She looked confused. “Well, yes, that too. No, I’m talking about poor Mrs. Cheatham’s, Muffin.” “Muffin?” “Yes, her dear little toy poodle died last night. It was so sudden.” A hanky was found after grubbing in her large black bag. “Isn’t that just the way? You give all your devotion to something and then one day you wake up and it’s gone. She is inconsolable. I’m going to her now.” “Please give her my condolences.” He tipped his hat. Josephine gave a tearful nod and hurried away. Looking toward the sky, Winn sighed. Good Lord, how can the loss of a dog take precedence over the bombing? He walked across the street and along the side of Priscilla’s house to the kitchen door. Inside, the housekeeper was at the ironing board. “Hello, Thelma.” “Hello, Mr. Prichard. Mercy me, I can’t get my mind away from all that happened yesterday. That sure was a good service last night, wasn’t it? How are Mrs. Prichard and those precious children?” Wrestling with the multiple choices of which to comment on first, he tossed his coat and hat on a chair. “The family’s fine, thanks. Pastor Goodman’s words were a comfort.” He took a cup from the cabinet and helped himself to the coffee on the stove. “Yes, it’s difficult to think of much else this morning and most everyone feels the same.” Everyone except Mrs. Hargrove. “Is mother in the living room?” He dumped two liberal teaspoons of sugar in his coffee. “Yes, she’s been by her radio since breakfast.” “Thank you, Thelma.” He headed toward the sound of a familiar voice on the radio. “How are you, Mother.” “Shh. The President is addressing Congress.” Priscilla’s rocker was tilted forward as her frail stature leaned toward the 1931 cathedral style Philco. Winn hurried to the overstuffed chair beside her and heard Franklin Roosevelt in decisive clarity say in part. “Yesterday, December seventh, 1941, a date which will live in infamy. … We will gain the inevitable triumph, so help us, God.” He concluded the speech with, “A state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.” A resounding roar of applause cascaded from the

radio. Priscilla’s arthritic fingers reached out to snap off the sound. She leaned back. “The world will never be the same.” Winn rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess people thought the same thing at the onset of the Great War in 1914. The attack on Pearl Harbor was deliberate and calculated. There’s no alternative but to fight.” Focusing on Winn’s coffee cup, she said, “Winston, you know I don’t allow food or drink in my living room.” With exaggerated effort, she stood. “Let’s go to the kitchen.” He followed her and sat at the table. “Thelma, we just heard the President’s statement to Congress. We are at war with Japan.” The housekeeper propped the Coleman self-heating iron on the padded board and shook her head side to side. “Lord, Lord. More boys are going to be sent to foreign shores. We’ll have to pray harder.” Priscilla smoothed her dark blue skirt in back and primly perched on a chair. “Well, not while you’re working, Thelma. You don’t need any more distractions to leave chores unattended like you did last Friday.” Winn gave Priscilla an incredulous look. “Confound it, Mother. In light of the attack and announcement of war, how can you bring up something that doesn’t amount to a hill of frijoles, for God’s sake?” Another thought struck him. “And why would you want to curtail Thelma’s prayer life?” Thelma said, “That’s all right, Mr. Prichard. Last Friday, I was concerned about my husband, he wasn’t feeling well and I was in a hurry to get home. But he felt well enough to go to work today.” Thelma looked directly toward her employer. “I apologize for leaving the kitchen trash unemptied.” It was said just as sincerely as she expressed it earlier. Priscilla sniffed. “With the handsome wages you are paid, I don’t expect it to happen again.” His mother’s selfish desire to control everything and everyone never ceased to amaze Winn. He put the brakes on trying to reason with her and changed the

subject. “Mother, I was pleased to hear you called Pastor Goodman to come talk to you after you heard about Pearl Harbor.” In his peripheral vision, he noticed Thelma plop down the iron and turn toward them. His mother jerked her eyes away and abruptly stood. “That was a private matter.” Her exit from the room was Winn’s dismissal. He exchanged smiles with Thelma as he donned his coat and hat. “Thank you, Thelma, for your patience and Christian attitude.” The stocky woman peered down the hall and leaned toward Winn. “The Lord has given me a mission here, Mr. Prichard. I’m going to be the best example I can be for your mother.” She picked up the iron to continue her task. “But, I must say— I put on the armor of God before I come into this house.”

Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.

—Ephesians 6:11

4

“R osalie, I want to place a call to the Mobil filling station in Hempstead. You know where you called before? It’s next to my parents’ house.” Hope stood at her desk grasping the phone tighter than necessary. “Can I make it person-toperson? It may take a minute for someone from the station to get Mama or Papa to come to the phone.” “Sure, it’ll cost more per minute, but you don’t have to pay if nobody’s home. I kept the number.” “Okay, thanks.” Hope fiddled with pencils in the holder she made from a soup can. Hearing the station owner answer, she felt a tingle of excitement in her stomach at the prospect of talking to someone—anyone from home. It didn’t take long. Out of breath, Mama hollered into the phone. “Hello, Sugar? Is that you?” “Yes, Mama, you don’t have to speak so loudly. I can hear you fine. Did y’all hear we’re going to war with Japan?” Mama nodded as if Hope could see her. “We heard the President talking on the radio just a while ago. Lord, have mercy on us all.” “I’m thankful our boys aren’t old enough to be drafted. Or Iris’s boys either.” “Praise God for that. Are you doin’ okay? Oh, here comes, Papa. He wants to talk to ya.” Hollis’ gruff sounding voice rumbled, “Hello, Sugar. Are you all right?” Hearing them both caused a lump of homesickness form in her throat. “Yes, we’re all fine. I just wanted to know about y’all. How’s Betsy and Pearl?” She heard Octavia in the background asking for the phone. Wrenching it from her husband’s large hand, Octavia said, “When are you goin’

to bring that baby to see us?” “Oh, Mama, you’re just going to love her to pieces. She’s such a good baby.” Hope glanced at Dove in the wooden drawer lined with padding that Eddie prepared when she was born. “I don’t know when we can take off. I’m already busy printing Christmas cards and doing some gift wrapping. Maybe after the first of the year the children and I can make the trip.” Papa said, “Y’all are talkin’ too much. You’re runnin’ up her bill, Tave. Let me talk.” Octavia reluctantly relinquished the earpiece, but stood tiptoed to hear. Still talking, he bent closer to his four-foot-eleven wife. “Betsy and Pearl are okay, they’ll be sorry they missed ya. Betsy’s still caring for widow Slone and Pearl’s at school right now.” Octavia raised her voice to make it all the way to Woodsboro. “We better go, but don’t you worry, Sugar. We made it through the last war. God will see us through this one. Give Winn and those young’uns a hug and take care of yourself.” “Okay, Mama. I love you all.” “Love you, too.” Their salutations meshed together. She leaned down and picked up Dove. “My sweet, baby. Your grandma is going to spoil you rotten when she gets a hold of you.” Glancing out the large front window, she saw Winn walking toward the building. “Ah, Dove, here comes your tall, handsome daddy.” His concerned expression changed immediately to a bright smile that lit up his dark brown eyes when he saw Hope holding Dove. Hope’s open, pretty face always lifted his spirit. “Well, now, my two favorite ladies are standing at the door to greet me. That’s the best thing that’s happened today.” He gave them both a peck on the cheek and set his notepad on the desk. Hanging his hat and coat on the rack, he said, “Want to know the next best thing?” “I can guess what it’s not. Surely you heard Roosevelt’s speech.” “Yes, I was at Mother’s. It’s the only plan of action he could take, Shug. I don’t know what we’re in for, or how it’s going to affect us personally. Mr. Riley didn’t give me an ad and several more regulars cut theirs down considerably.” Eddie walked from the back shop dragging the broom along. “I w-was at Mac’s eating a bowl of chili. I heard the news on the radio. W-w-what do you think is

going to happen, Winston?” Winn sat on the side of the desk. “Well, I got an inkling of the varied reactions to catastrophes. That’s what I was about to tell Hope. Today, the best thing for me is seeing my two loves here. The next best was my encounters with Mr. Sanders, Mrs. Upton and Thelma.” Hope looked at Dove’s wide eyes. “Did you hear that, Dove? We came in first.” Eddie was not ready to take anything lightly after the news of war. “How are people around town f-feeling?” “There’s probably a wide spectrum of responses taking place all over America today. I’m going to work it into my column. There are those like Roger who claims Roosevelt knew about the attack in advance and is shouting it from the rooftops spreading doubt about our leadership.” Hope said, “He thinks our government knew about it and didn’t try to stop it?” Winn nodded. “That’s right and some folks, scared out of their wits, are taking money out of their bank . I guess they’ll stash it under their mattress.” “Oh, no.” Hope moved to the desk chair and slowly sat with Dove on her lap. Eddie leaned heavily on the counter as Winn continued. “Mrs. Hargrove and Mother represent a few who are pretending to be oblivious, focusing on insignificant matters. Then there are probably those like Eugene Upton who doesn’t know where to place the little faith he has.” Winn stood and picked up his notebook. “Kind old Mr. Sanders is like many who have comion for the wounded and Thelma who is a prayer warrior. Thank goodness for people like Mrs. Upton, ready to do her part in bolstering morale.” Eddie said, “T-t-that’s quite a commentary. What did Mrs. Upton do to give you that impression?” “Eugene told me to cancel their ad, but his mother swooped in his office like an angel of light. She said to make the ad the usual size and told me to write a confirmation that the bank will stand by their pledge to be of service. The little woman is standing tall.”

Hope said, “Good for her, and praise God, she didn’t change the size of her ad. The bank is one of our few paying rs.” She stood and placed Dove in her make-shift bassinet. “Your observations will make a good editorial, but I hope you won’t use names. I don’t want you to get beat up in an alley again.”

Over the next few days, work was accomplished as usual. Winn wrote his column, set type for news, and laid out the ads for The Woodsboro News. Hope printed jobs on the press, and took in news items and classified ads. Eddie quietly went about his duties of cleaning the shop and reading proofs. He had a capacity for the English language and was a whiz at crossword puzzles, but seemed to lack the capacity of performing anything but the simplest of tasks. The radio from the living quarters was placed on the front counter where they could hear the latest news. On Thursday, the eleventh, Winn replaced large font type in the case from Wednesday night’s edition. Hope just finished printing an order of Christmas cards for Brolin’s law office. A whirlwind named Eddie burst through the front door. Hope was startled. Winn rushed toward him. Hope switched off the job press motor. Eddie was pale and shaking. “T-they … Ger-G-ermany.” Winn took his brother by the arm and helped him to a stool. “Take it easy, Eddie. Here, sit down, take a deep breath.” Hope said, “What’s happened?” “Hitler, h-he declared war. It was on the radio at Mac’s.” Hope rushed to the counter and turned on the radio. An announcer confirmed that Hitler and Mussolini had declared war on the United States. Concerned for Eddie, she said, “Go in the back and stretch out on the boys’ bed for a while, Eddie. You look like all the blood has drained from your face.” “N-no, I need to see if Mother is all right.” Winn snapped off the radio. “Bathe your face and do like she says, Eddie. You’re shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. I’ll check on Mother.” He met Hope’s troubled eyes. Eddie made his way to the back, and closed the partition door

behind him. Hope walked to the home-made bassinet behind the counter where Dove was sleeping. She turned to Winn. “We’ll be all right. Go check on Mother Prichard.” He grabbed his hat and coat. “She’s probably at her window expecting Nazi soldiers to march up Victoria Street any minute.” Hope placed the rest of the Christmas cards on the work table for the ink to dry completely before folding and putting them in the box. She read the greeting. “May you and yours be filled with the joy and peace found in Jesus.” Wonder what’s ahead. Heavenly Father, so many people have died, so many are injured and far away from home. Give them and their loved ones Your peace. Help me to be strong, filled with the joy and peace of Jesus. Going about her bookkeeping, she listened to the radio. Eddie returned to his task of casting the metal type into the melting pot. Winn returned to work at the linotype after seeing that Priscilla was somewhat settled, although she rarely reached a level of complete calm. After school, Billy and Marty rode their bikes to the depot to pick up The Houston Chronicle for their paper route. Leroy stood outside the telegraph office door smoking a cigarette. “Hey, fellas, did ya hear Germans are on their way over here to kill us all?” “That’s not funny, Leroy. The principle told us what Hitler said. Our soldiers are gonna keep the Germans and the Japanese away, so don’t try to scare us.” “Yeah.” Marty jumped off his bike and let it down in its side. “Our army and navy’s gonna blow those lily livers to smithereens.” Leroy laughed, “You’ve got Yosemite Sam’s voice down pat, Marty. I was just kidding. You bet our guys are gonna keep ‘um far away.” He exhaled and squinted as the smoke trailed up his face. “In fact, I’m thinking of g up myself.” Marty said, “Really? Can ya shoot a gun?” “’Course I can shoot. I knocked down an eight-pointer out at my uncle’s ranch.”

Billy rolled papers and tossed them in the canvas bag attached to his handle bars. He pointed to the bench. “There’s your stack, Marty. Hurry up.” He looked at Leroy. “But, your job here at the telegraph office is important, too.” Click, clickity, click click. Leroy flicked his cigarette butt onto the gravel and ran into the office to check the in-coming telegraph message. The boys were ready to head out for deliveries when they heard Leroy on the phone. “Rosalie, get me Mrs. Parks. Quick.” Billy’s head jerked up, his big eyes met Marty’s. They ran to the door. Leroy was leaning forward over his desk. “Mrs. Parks, this is Leroy over at the telegraph office. A wire just came in. You can come get it, I can call Mr. Sanders to take it to you, or I can read it. I think you might want me to read it.” Even though the air was cold, Billy nervously rubbed sweaty palms on his pants. In a shaky voice, Leroy said, “Yes, ma’am. It says, ‘Both safe. Stop.’” He held the phone away from his ear. Billy and Marty heard the loud cry. Leroy continued. “‘Love. Stop. Harold and Harvey.’” Billy jumped up and yelled. “Yahoo.” He grabbed the handlebars of his bike. “Let’s go tell Mom and Pop.” Leroy’s face flushed with pride in being the bearer of such wonderful news. After hanging up, he yelled to the boys. “Tell everybody on your route. I’m gonna call your daddy and let him know.” Billy and Marty were out of earshot.

Winn said, “What’s that, Leroy? Uh-huh.” He nodded at Hope who was standing beside him. A catch in his throat prevented a quick response, but he managed to say, “Great. That’s great news. Thanks, Leroy.” He cradled the phone. “Harold and Harvey are safe.” Hope couldn’t deny tears crowding her eyes. Her arms encircled Winn. He swung her around. Eddie hurried from the back shop. Winn and Hope spilled the news at the same time. “The Parks boys are okay.” Billy and Marty came in, faces chapped from the cold, but bright with joy. “I guess Leroy called you.” Billy said. Marty snatched his cap off. “Shucks, we wanted to tell you.”

It was quitting time. Eddie untied his apron. “I can’t wait to tell Mother and Thelma.” He turned, and then hesitated. “L-listen.” He stepped to the radio and turned up the volume. An articulate, deep voice from the radio speaker filled the shop. “Congress has made a declaration of retaliation to Hitler’s proclamation of war against the United States. America has officially ed forces with Great Britain. We are defending our country on two fronts, Europe and Asia, the largest war in history.”

What a cruel thing is war, to separate and destroy families and friends and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world. To fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world.

—Robert E. Lee, letter to his wife. 1864

5

“Y ou sounded like Alfalfa in Our Gang movies, Marty. I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing when your voice cracked on that high note.” “I saw you snickerin’. You just wait, Billy, I’ll laugh all over the auditorium when you get up on the stage.” “Don’t hold your breath, ‘cause it’ll never happen.” Hope said, “You did fine, Marty. I’m proud that you have the confidence to stand up in front of an audience. I couldn’t do that.” Winn shifted Dove in his arms, adjusting her coat against the cold night air. “That’s right, Marty, it was good practice for you to be in the Christmas program. ‘O Holy Night’ never sounded so good. Don’t stop being a part of school activities.” “Oh, I’m going to be in everything I can, Pop.” Billy walked beside Marty. “You’ve got to be the center of attention or you’ll bust wide open.” He slapped Marty on the back. “You did okay, Mart, you know I had to give you a hard time.” His prideful smile spoke more than his words.

“Merry Christmas to you Eddie.” Winn’s voice boomed real joy over the phone. “Yes, Hope’s been up since dawn. Everything’s ready.” He glanced toward the front through the frosted window. “Sanders’ cab just drove up, we’ll be there directly.” Winn met the taxi driver at the front door of the shop. “We’re much obliged to you for driving us to Mother’s house for Christmas dinner, Mr. Sanders. We would have a hard time carrying the turkey, pies, and the baby.” “Think nothing of it, Mr. Prichard. My daughter and her brood won’t be here

from El Campo ‘til later this afternoon.” The old gent opened the car door for Hope with Dove bundled warmly in pink confection. Marty had a cardboard box containing a pecan pie, a sweet potato pie, a large bowl of cornbread dressing, and a dish of succotash. Mr. Sanders opened the trunk and as Marty set it down, he hit the box with a thump, pretending to drop it. He said, “Oh no, what a mess. Sorry, Mom.” Jerking her head around, she couldn’t see him with the trunk open. “Marty, I told you to be careful.” She made motions of getting out, expecting to see the ruination of her dishes. “He’s just kidding, Mom.” Billy held the roasting pan with the turkey, cooked to a golden brown. After Winn settled in the back seat with Hope, Billy gave the pan to him. He turned to the driver. “May I sit in front, Mr. Sanders?” Marty quickly opened the front enger door and slid in. Billy said, “Maarrtee, you didn’t ask.” Marty said, “May I sit in the front, Mr. Sanders?” Mr. Sanders chuckled. “Sure, there’s not much room in back.” Hope gave Marty a solid warning tap on his head. “You better settle down before we get to Grandmother’s house.” Winn shifted the pan onto the seat beside him. “The kitchen towel isn’t enough padding to hold on my lap, the pot is still pretty hot. I think we’re ready, Mr. Sanders.” The taxi made a U-turn on Wood Avenue and headed to Victoria Street. Hope said, “Let’s see, the turkey is right here, the pies, dressing and bowl of vegetables are in the trunk.” She scooted forward to peer in the front seat. “Who has the big jar of gravy?” Marty said, “I thought Billy was supposed to get it.” “I had that big pan with the turkey, I couldn’t carry a jar.” Billy made a face at his brother. “Why didn’t you get it?” Winn leaned toward the driver. “Uh, Mr. Sanders, could you please turn

around?” He gave Hope a sheepish grin. “I set the jar on the desk when Eddie called.”

Winn gave a valiant effort to carve the turkey, but the serving platter ended up with pieces of unrecognizable, hacked fowl. They sat in the seldom used oblong table in Priscilla’s dimly lit dining room. Eddie volunteered to ask for the Lord’s blessing. His words were sincere, closing with a plea for protection around our soldiers and peace for the world. Dove was content on the floor, warm as toast on a soft pallet. Hope eyed the bowl of mashed potatoes which was Eddie’s contribution to the Christmas dinner. “Eddie, your potatoes look good.” Marty said, “They are. I already tasted ‘um.” Billy took a piece of turkey. “I saw you sneaking a bite while Uncle Eddie was praying.” Priscilla placed a cloth napkin in her lap. “That was naughty, Martin. Good manners must be foremost, particularly during a holiday meal, and especially at my dining table, young man.” Hope shot Marty a pointed look with the meaning spelled out in no uncertain . Marty slouched. “Yes, Grandmother. Sorry.” He scooped potatoes onto his plate and stuffed a forkful into his mouth. Winn held the heavy platter while his mother daintily poked her fork in a sliver of white meat. As Winn ed the plate to Eddie, their mother gave a familiar tilt to her head which was the prefix to a reprimand. “I will give you another bit of table manner etiquette, Martin.” Marty rolled his eyes. “None of that, now. I am merely teaching proper decorum since it is evident you have been sadly lacking instruction.” This time Hope rolled her eyes which Priscilla failed to witness and went on. “Slouching is unbecoming and will develop into a habit which will be difficult to correct. You must sit erect and politely wait for others to be served before partaking yourself.” Billy and Marty exchanged looks, choking back laughter which would bring more words of correction.

Winn cleared his throat. “It sure was good news to hear the Parks boys were unharmed, but there’s been no other communication from them.” Eddie said, “I g-guess they’ve been busy cleaning up after all the destruction.” Billy stabbed a chunk of meat. “Yeah, and picking up all the dead bodies.” Priscilla’s fork fell into her plate. “Must we talk of such subjects? Winston, apparently you have forgotten proper table conversation and have failed to instruct William and Martin some things are not discussed while eating. Edward, you also made an imprudent remark about the destruction. I will surely have indigestion.” Eddie’s knee nervously bounced up and down. Hope leaned forward and opened her mouth to speak, but Winn beat her to the draw. “Mother, we teach our boys manners, but we also discuss important issues with them at the table. I apologize if our conversation isn’t pleasing to you. We’ll change the subject.” He directed an arched eyebrow at Billy and then Marty. They gave a little nod. He turned to Hope. “Everything tastes good.” Forced pleasantness spread across Hope’s features. “We’re blessed that Swenson’s Grocery still runs their ad in trade for food. The cost of the turkey was a little more than their ad last week, but Mr. Swenson let me have it anyway.” Priscilla pointed her fork to the bowl of vegetables. “What is this concoction, Hope?” Hope straightened her back in anticipation of a cordial turn in table talk. “Succotash. Mrs. Hornsby gives us her canned goods in trade for her sewing service classified ads. The succotash has lima beans, stewed tomatoes and corn. It’s quite good. Did you have some?” Drawing her fork back, Priscilla said, “Real succotash is made with zucchini.”

Walking home after dessert, Winn carried Dove. The boys each had a large paper sack of left overs. Marty mimicked his grandmother with pursed lips and raised eyebrows. “Young man, there are some things we do not discuss at the dinner table.”

Billy’s voice was full of starch. “William, talking about dead bodies, blood and guts is not proper table manners.” Hope restrained a giggle. “Boys, even though your grandmother is strict beyond reason about some things, she’s right about table manners. When you’re guests, you need to be more sensitive about your words and what is discussed. Talking crudely about the dead is not only rude, it’s disrespectful.” Billy turned and walked backwards, facing his parents. “Was Grandmother like that when you were a kid, Pop?” “Watch out, the sidewalk is uneven. You might trip.” Dove began to cry. Winn handed her to Hope. “Yes, Billy, she was. Mother is a perfectionist and a zebra can’t change her stripes. She assumes it’s her personal responsibility to point out what she considers faults in everyone. To her standards, ill manners are like a brush fire she feels compelled to snub out before the entire forest is destroyed.” Hope pulled Dove’s knitted cap over her ears. “She sure wanted to snub out my fire when I first met her. A least she hasn’t told me I need to go to a beauty parlor lately.” “I that.” Winn reached out to grab a sack from Billy. “Here, let me carry that for a while.” Billy shook his head no and faced forward. “That’s okay, I got it.” Marty held out his sack. “You can carry mine, Pop.” Winn took the bag. “I had a reprieve from Mother though when I was around ten. I was sent to live with Aunt Katy and Uncle John in Atlanta.” Marty turned to walk beside Winn. “Who are they?” “Aunt Katy is Mother’s younger sister. They’re as different as a lemon and a sweet Georgia peach. Aunt Katy is a wonderful person and so is her husband. Uncle John is a doctor. They were my example of what a loving family should be. I lived with them two years, but had to go back home to take charge of Luther for a while when Eddie was born.” He shifted the bag and reached for Marty’s hand. “You see, Mother was overcome with grief when three of my brothers died within several years. She wasn’t able to take care of us.”

Marty’s face took on a worried expression. “Gee, Pop, if you ever send us away, I’ll take Grandpa and Grandma Davidson.” Hope responded quickly. “We’ll never send any of you away.” Winn said, “There’s no way this side of heaven that will happen, Boys.”

On Friday, the day after Christmas, the postman was ushered into the office door by a blast of frosty air. “Afternoon, Mrs. Prichard. Sorry I’m late today.” Hope turned from the press with a smudge on her cheek. “In this weather, I’m surprised you made it at all.” Padded and puffy, his jacket looked filled with air and was buttoned to his upturned collar. The cap’s ear flaps were tied under his chin. Thick wool gloves held envelopes and catalogs. “It really wasn’t the weather that delayed my rounds today.” His eyes almost twinkled. “This morning when I was sorting my mail, a red and blue striped envelope caught my eye.” Hope’s interest was piqued. He smiled. “It was from San Francisco for Mrs. Parks.” “Oh, thank the Lord.” She called to Winn at the linotype. “Winn, Mrs. Parks got a letter today from…” Hope turned her gaze back to the mailman, “from San Francisco? Was it—bad news?” “Nope, her boys are still on ‘Oh-wah-hoo’ or however you say it. As far as I know, all military mail for the states from the Pacific is shipped to San Francisco.” Winn ed them at the counter to hear the conversation and the postman went on. “Mrs. Parks ripped the letter open and I know I shouldn’t have, but I waited to see if she was happy or sad. She laughed and cried and told me they’re okay. I’ve been telling everybody.” Eddie walked over in time to hear the mailman. “Newton, you have a wonderful occupation. It must be very rewarding to deliver good news.” The man set a stack of mail on the counter. “It is, Eddie. But, you know along with delivering good news, some letters are bad news.” Winn said, “That’s life, isn’t it? At least people don’t shoot the bearer of bad

news.” Newton chuckled. “If that was the case, I would’ve been shot a long time ago. I’ll see you folks.” He grimaced to face the inclement weather.

Sunday at church, Pastor Goodman walked to the pulpit with a lilt in his step. His eyes swept the sanctuary before settling on the front pew where Mrs. Parks and her daughter, Hannah, were seated. “God has answered our prayers concerning the safety of Harvey and Harold Parks.” Clapping and shouting weren’t the norm for the First Baptist Church of Woodsboro, but conservatism was abandoned while relief and joy was boisterously demonstrated. The minister waited and when the applause subsided, he said, “A letter from them was received on Friday. It was dated December twelfth, five days after the Pearl Harbor attack. Both Harold and Harvey were aboard the USS Pennsylvania which was dry docked at the nearby navy yard. It took two weeks for their letter to arrive in the hands of their mother. Mrs. Parks wants her church family to know her boys asked her to thank everyone for their prayers. The boys grew up in this church and knew we would be praying for them.” There were shouts of ‘Amen’ from the congregation and Pastor Goodman continued. “The ladies auxiliary will be serving refreshments in the Training Union assembly hall immediately after the service if you would like to have a word with Mrs. Parks and Hannah.” Marty whispered, “We can stay, huh, Mom?” Billy leaned across his brother. “He wants to talk to Hannah.” Winn heard the remark and winked at Marty. Hope gave her boys a smile. “I suppose we can stay for a few minutes.”

And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints.

—Ephesians 6:18

6

January, 1942—

H ope read a letter from Fayella as she sat at the desk resting her forearms on the ink stained blotter. Folding the missive, she gazed out the window and fixed her eyes on the tiny melting icicles hanging from the eave over the porch. A shiver brought her hands across her chest rubbing the rough wool sweater on her arms. “Sugar, you look as forlorn as I feel without a lead story.” Winn stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “What does Fayella have to say?” She placed her hands on his arms and leaned back into his embrace. “Buford has enlisted.” He stepped around to face her and sat on the edge of the desk. “Well, they don’t have children and he’s not too old. How old is he, anyway?” “He’s five years older than me, so he must be about thirty-six.” She unfolded the letter and looked over it again. “Fayella said Buford ed the Navy and she plans to stay on the farm. Her daddy and uncle are going to help out with the planting.” A quiver betrayed her concern. She sighed and lifted her eyes. “I know Mama and Papa will be worried, he’s their only son.” “I don’t know about Papa, but Mama will be praying.” She stood. “So will I.” Tucking the letter in her pocket, she turned toward the back shop. “I need to get those funeral notices printed for Mr. Warren.” “Ward is taking it pretty hard. He’s sure going to miss his old man sitting in the lobby of the hotel every morning.” Hope slipped an apron around her brown checked dress. “Ward’s wife, Sadie,

recently came to my Sunday school class. She’s seeking the Lord, so if her husband believes in Jesus like his father did, they’ll be all right.” Winn took in the clean purity of her attractive features. Her head tilted, as a coy smile revealed her slightly crooked front tooth. “What?” “Just taking inventory of my good fortune in having you as my wife.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Well, right now I’m a printer and I better get these notices ready.” A wail from the baby gave notice that Hope was also a mother. “Uh-oh, that was a short nap. She must be wet.” Winn turned and hurried toward the large cardboard box where Dove was lying on a folded quilt. “Hey, there, little Miss Dove. Let daddy see what’s troubling you.” A grateful smile creased Hope’s lips as she picked up the type gauge to set up the funeral announcement which would be placed in businesses around town. Her heart went out to the Warren family and their loss. She murmured a prayer for them and then her thoughts turned to her brother, Buford, and the sister-in-law she cared so much about. Dear Lord, I ask for protection around Buford as he trains for the Navy and whatever he’ll face in this terrible war. Please give Fayella and Mama and Papa comfort in knowing he’s in Your care. Later, with the baby sleeping contentedly in a clean diaper, Winn grabbed his jacket. “All seems quiet on the western front. I’m heading over to Mac’s for coffee and tidbits of news.” “What would you do without Mac’s diner for the town’s scuttlebutt?” Buttoning his coat, he said, “Hey, I don’t print scuttlebutt. It’s the roving bee that gathers the honey, and news is honey to our readers.” “I know, but you get an earful of news not fit to print. I’d like to be a cricket in the corner, privy to conversations over there.” “You’re welcome to come any time. Sophie, from the Used, Slightly Bruised Furniture store, comes by pretty often and isn’t shy about stating her opinions.” Hope laughed. “I can imagine what that must be like. She seems to be a tough old bird.”

“That she is and doesn’t mind letting you know what’s what, how it came about, and what you can do with it.” With a smile in her voice, she said, “In colorful language to boot.” “That’s the best part.” Winn pushed open the front door to an onslaught of frigid air. He held on to his hat. “See ya later, Sugar.”

Sophie’s dented, ‘33 pick-up was parked beside Mac’s. Most patrons walked to the diner, rain, shine, or even on the few days south Texas had the audacity to freeze. Winn was met with Jack’s whistle. Heads turned his way with rippled greetings from the counter and tables. He found a place on the rack for his outerwear. “Good morning, everybody.” “We already covered that subject, Prichard.” Roger looked as if he had just gotten out of bed with uncombed hair and stubby whiskers. “Get over here and set Sophie straight. Maybe she’ll listen to you.” “Of course Sophie listens to me—but she seldom agrees.” He tossed a smile at the stocky, woman. “Well, Sophie? Sounds like y’all are already in a debate.” She waved a hand of dismissal toward Roger. Her hand was big, with sturdy, square fingers. In fact, her hefty body was a box of muscles. “Like always, he’s ready to argue over how many inches it rained last night if he can’t come up with anything else. I keep hopin’ he’ll be gone by the time I get here.” Roger gave her a smug look. “Somethin’ you oughta know, Sophie—early to rise and you’ll meet no prominent people. All us intellectuals convene when the sun beams its best rays.” Laughter came from several men at a table. Winn gave them a nod as he straddled a stool at the counter. Mac set a mug of steaming black coffee in front of him. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Winn. Your usual short stack or just coffee and debate?” “I’ll have some breakfast with the banter, Mac. Hey, you should have that in your ad. ‘Stop by Mac’s Diner for breakfast and banter.’ What do you think?”

Mac had a hearty laugh. “Sounds good to me.” Sam Benson swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Mac, your laugh even has a Scottish brogue.” “When you’re a Scot, you’re a Scot through and through.” Roger smirked. “Yeah, that’s why we hafta make sure you don’t skimp on our servings.” From her table in the corner, Sophie said, “It’s likely we’ll all be skimpin’ to this here war Hitler and Hirohito stirred up.” Pouring sugar into his mug, Winn said, “You’re right, Sophie. The Corpus paper’s front page had a picture of men lined up at the court house to sign up. I imagine most of our resources will go to the war effort and our boys.” She said, “Yep, there’s work to be done and no men to do it. My daughter over in Galveston got a job at the shipyard. She said they’re expanding, and word is out they need women willing to work as welders.” Roger said, “Maybe you should head on over there, Sophie.” “You can’t get rid of me, you old codger. I can do my part right here. Metal is gonna be needed to build airplanes and equipment. I find lots of junk the military can use and I know where to find more.” Sam said, “I’ll be looking around my rental properties. Thanks for bringing it to mind, Sophie.” “Don’t encourage her, Sambo.” Roger bent over his plate of scrambled eggs. “She already thinks she knows everything.” Sophie ambled to the cash on the counter. “I don’t understand everything I know, but I do know we have to do all we can to stop the war as quick as we can, any way we can.” Winn sat his mug beside his platter of pancakes. “That’s the truth, Sophie. The newsreels are showing the building up of shipyards everywhere possible. Activity is starting in several places in Louisiana, Mobile, Alabama, and even

Pascagoula, Mississippi.” Sophie reached for her cape and tossed it around her broad shoulders. “There’s a cold wind blowing in, fellers, and it ain’t just the weather.” Every head turned her direction to hear her gravelly voice, damaged by a lifetime of smoking. “I can feel a chill comin’ like we ain’t seen since the war we thought would end all wars. We can’t sit on our hindquarters while the rest of the world does all the fightin’. Y’all best be figgerin’ out how you can dig in your heels and do your part for our boys way out yonder dodgin’ bullets or—or kamikazes.” As the door closed behind her, silence sat motionless in the diner. Jack didn’t even bid his good-bye whistle. Sam had been holding his cup mid-air and set it on the counter. “She should be in the newsreels with Uncle Sam saying, ‘I want you’. Everybody in the picture show would run out and up or get a job at the nearest factory.” Roger stood, and with the weight of the war on his back, trudged toward the coat rack. “I’ve already done my part. I dug in my heels to stop Wayne from going up there to Canada and ’ up with the dadblamed royal flying fools before we even got in this dog fight. I couldn’t stop him, so that’s my sacrifice. My only boy is the best I got.” Do not fear or be dismayed because of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours, but God’s.

2 Chronicles 20:15b

RICHLAND RECORDER



Richland, Texas Thursday, September 14, 1972


Observations of an Octogenarian by Winn Prichard

In this week’s column, I pose a serious question. Do peace loving folks truly take solace in the words of Jesus where He tells us in the book of Matthew not to be frightened when we hear of wars and rumors of war? Surely we must take comfort from the Prince of Peace. When news headlines and TV commentators report uprisings, that’s when we call on our faith to settle our spirit. Almighty God already knows the future and gives the warning that nation will rise against nation. Furthermore, those things must take place. Who are we to ask why? Humanity has been involved in conflict since the beginning of time. We seem to be determined to smash in the face of those in other countries, with different religions, with varying shades of skin, of opposing views, or with foreign tenets. The tiny country of Israel has been the brunt of hatred from Biblical times, all the way to our current news flashes. From prophetic

s we know they will be fighting their enemies generation to generation until the Lord steps foot on the Mount of Olives. With the Olympic Games in Munich for the first time since 1936, many Germans hoped the event would help heal racial wounds caused by Hitler. Last week on the 5th, Arab terrorists who call themselves, Black September, climbed over the fence at Munich’s Olympic Village. Their goal was to take the Israeli athletic team hostage. Their devious ploy was thwarted, but not before the Israelis and several guards were killed. Our country’s involvement in Vietnam waged on in hopes of preventing a communist takeover of South Vietnam. America’s leaders continued in their efforts to stop the spread of communism. We encountered the threat of , Italy, and Japan during World War II, in what seemed insurmountable odds. It was a time when our military was spread thin across the globe, yet were never without of their country. The years of the Great Depression ended with our entrance into war. Increased industrialization in shipyards and factories opened up jobs for those who weren’t qualified for the draft. The end of the Depression didn’t mean life was easier, just more productive. Work was hard, hours were long. Children and the elderly were left alone at times. Necessities were rationed for the war effort. Most folks fell in step with an open hand, willingly giving up their way of life for victory over aggression. America became even more united in spirit. Other sacrifices were made—our men and boys marched away from homes, schools, fields, and jobs leaving wives, mothers, and sweethearts. We ed our fighting men then and I urge America to them now. If your political views are in opposition with those in Washington, let them know, but pledge your allegiance to our boys. They are following orders in the worse physical conditions we can imagine. Encourage them in your letters; let them know you are praying for their safety and the wisdom of our leaders who make the country’s decisions. Stepping down from my soapbox now and g off with the printer’s

symbol -30-.

7

H ope pulled the iron skillet out of the oven with a folded dishrag around the hot handle. The aroma of cornbread pulled the boys from their room. Marty said, “Smells good, Mom. Want me to set the table?” She plopped the skillet on the table and faced him with raised eyebrows. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to ask for something, Martin? You’ve been helpful all afternoon.” Billy reached in the icebox for the milk. “Uh-oh, whenever she calls you Martin, you know she smells a rat, Marty. Whatcha got up your sleeve?” Marty’s face took on the innocent, hurt expression he always presented when it could be used to his advantage. “How do ya like that? Can’t a guy just help sometimes without another motive?” Winn walked to the kitchen from the shop in time to hear Marty’s question. “I think you mean ulterior motive, Marty.” Billy laughed and Marty comically hunched his shoulders and slinked to the cabinet. “All right, all right.” He got out four bowls and placed them on the table. “I was just wondering about those movie es Mr. Gillespie gives us.” Hope cut chunks of the cornpone and put them in the bowls. “He doesn’t actually give them to us, Marty. We run his weekly schedule and he pays us with es instead of cash. You know that.” She pitched the dishrag onto the counter and sat at the table. “Why?” “Here it comes.” Billy said as he grabbed spoons from the drawer. Washing his hands, Winn looked over his shoulder. “Put a lid on it, Boys. Let your mother say the blessing, I’ve got to eat and get back to the shop.” He dried with the dishrag and ed them at the table. The boys bowed their heads while Hope thanked the Lord before they took turns

pouring milk over their crumbled cornbread. Marty took a swig of milk. “I was thinking it would be nice if I invited Hannah to the movies. It would help take her mind off worrying about her brothers out there in Pearl Harbor where they might get bombed again.” “The four of us and Eddie go once a week, we’ve never taken advantage by asking for more es.” Winn spoke harshly. “Maybe it wouldn’t be taking advantage.” Milk dripped from Marty’s spoon just before he put it in his mouth. Hope studied Winn’s furrowed brow and decided he must be tired. She directed her gaze to Marty. “I think it would be overstepping our bounds. We don’t want to jeopardize our arrangement with the Gillespie’s.” Marty said, “Well, we get five tickets and Mr. Gillespie wouldn’t care who uses them. I could take Hannah and Billy can stay home.” Billy kicked Marty’s ankle. “Are you nuts? Abbot and Costello are playing. Maybe you could stay home and I could take Ramona Riley.” Winn pushed his chair back. “I’ll skip the movie this week. Do whatever you want with my . Hope looked at his bowl. “Winn, you’ve hardly eaten.” “I’ve got too much on my mind to eat. I’ve got to get back to the linotype.” His steps were heavy. The partition door closed loud enough to wake Dove. Billy kicked Marty again. “See what you did?” “I was just asking.” Marty’s elbow flew to the table. He put his head in his hand. Splayed fingers poked through his thick, sandy colored hair. Hope patted Marty’s shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I think Daddy is just out of sorts.” She hurried to pick up the baby.

Later, while the children slept, Hope wrote a letter to Mama. She related news

about the boys’ progress at school, about how much Dove was growing, and positive news about business. Her pencil wouldn’t write negative comments to Mama or anyone else. She sealed the envelope and opened the door to the shop. Stopping by the linotype, she said, “You must be tired, Winn. Can’t you leave that ‘til morning?” He didn’t look up. “I could, but then the copy won’t be ready when I need to set the forms for press time tomorrow night.” She walked to the front desk for a stamp and tossed the envelope in the letter box for tomorrow’s pick up. On the way back, Hope hesitated, thought about urging him to quit for the evening, but decided against it. Experience taught her it was best to indulge Winn with silence when he was in one of his rare down-in-thedumps moods. Melting deep under the quilt, the bed felt good and the hot water bottle at her feet soothed her entire body. She turned away from the lighted lamp on Winn’s bedside table and gave thanks to the Lord for His provision. The muffled clicking of the linotype lulled her to sleep. Something woke her. Hope lay still for a moment deciphering what it was. The phone rang. Turning, she realized Winn wasn’t in bed. The lamp was still on. The clock hands were folded at four-twenty. The phone jangled again. Why doesn’t Winn answer it? She threw the quilt back and raced to the front of the shop without a robe or slippers. “Hello?” It was a question, not a greeting. “Mrs. Prichard, I’m sorry to call you, but …” “Who is this?” Her feet on the cold wood floor made her shiver. “It’s Sanders, Ma’am. Sanders Taxi? I’m across the street at the phone company. I was afraid I’d wake up the children if I came banging on your door.” She peered out the large front window to see his cab parked by the telephone building. “What’s happened? Where’s Winn?” “He’s all right, just a little tipsy. The Barbed Wire was closing and they didn’t

want to put Mr. Prichard out on the curb.” “The Barbed Wire?” “Yes, Ma’am. The owner called me to pick him up and take him home.” The chill she felt a moment before had dissipated as the heat of anger shot through her. “What’s wrong, Mom?” Billy stood by the counter in his bare feet. Hope turned away from Billy and said into the phone. “Bring him on over, Mr. Sanders.” Her voice was calm. She set the phone in the cradle and stared at it, wondering how to handle the situation. Realizing Billy was too old to order back to bed; she made the decision to be honest. “Your daddy’s drunk. You’ll have to help me get him to bed.” She grabbed her coat off the rack by the door and slipped it on. Looking across Wood Avenue, Hope and Billy saw Mr. Sanders walk out of the building followed by Rosalie. The cab driver slowly turned his car around and pulled close to the print shop porch while Rosalie walked across the street. Billy watched the drama in the night. “Is Pop in the taxi?” She sighed. “I’m afraid so. Mr. Sanders was called to pick him up at The Barbed Wire when they closed. He didn’t want to wake you kids, so he called from across the street, as if the phone wouldn’t wake you.” Sanders lifted Winn out of the back seat and Rosalie picked up his feet. Hope hung her head. “Lord have mercy.” The youngster felt sick. He rushed to open the door. Hope was right behind him. “Thank you Mr. Sanders, can I pay you tomorrow?” Breathing heavily, he said, “No need, Mrs. Prichard.” “Oh, yes, there is. I’m sorry you had to be called at this hour.” She met Rosalie’s comionate eyes and said, “I’m sorry.” “You can trust me, Hope. I’ll not breathe a word about this.” She gingerly set Winn’s feet on the ground. A rush of embarrassment pursed Hope’s lips. Her

eyes told more thanks than words could express. Billy put Winn’s arm around his shoulders. “I got him, Mr. Sanders.” But he didn’t. He caved in under the dead weight. Hope rushed to grab the other arm. She and Billy tugged and got Winn through the doorway, easing him to the floor. Winn slurred something unintelligible, his sour breath and vomit stained shirt made Billy choke back a gag. Mr. Sanders said, “Let me help you take him to the bed.” Hope’s head moved side to side with shame. “No. Thank you both. Billy and I can handle him.” Mr. Sanders and Rosalie backed away. Hope said, “Good night.” She closed the door before tears of humiliation gushed down her cheeks. She sat on the cold floor beside Winn and looked at her son. “Oh, Billy, I’m sorry you had to see him this way.” He sat on the other side of Winn. “I know he gets drunk sometimes, Mom.” It took a moment before new resolve got Hope to her feet. “Okay, there’s nothing we can do now except try to get him to bed. I’ll get him under the arms if you can pick up his feet like Rosalie did.” They struggled around the counter, worktable, and machinery, practically dragging Winn. He groaned when they squeezed through the partition door to the living quarters. With great effort, they plopped him on the bed. Hope crumbled to her knees on the floor, out of breath. Billy sat beside her. “Miss Rosalie and Mr. Sanders won’t tell, will they?” “No, they’re good, Christian people. Rosalie has helped me several times.” No need to tell him how she was there for me when I lost the baby before Dove was born. “And Mr. Sanders is the salt of the earth; I imagine he’s seen many things in town. We can trust him.” Billy looked down at his bare feet for a moment and said, “Why does Pop do it, Mom?” Hope grabbed the edge of the sheet and wiped her face. “I wish I knew.” She spoke softly. “He’s basically lighthearted and kind, but I think deep hurts come to the surface sometimes. I don’t know what triggers it, maybe worry, maybe the pressure he’s under to get out the paper every week. It’s hard to publish a good

paper, one he’s proud of.” “I know it’s hard, but it seems like he makes it harder when he drinks, gets sick, and then doesn’t feel good the next day.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “I’ve thought the same thing. Your daddy is outgoing and likable, but he has a side hidden from others—even me.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for helping me. Now you need to hop back in bed, it’ll be time to get up soon.” They stood and Hope pulled Winn’s shoes off. Billy watched. “You…you’ll never leave will you, Mom?” An ache lodged in the pit of her stomach. She turned. “No, Billy. God gave me a love for him that I can’t explain. We’re family, we stick together. Hurry along now before you wake Marty and Dove.” She watched him walk to his room. He wore an imaginary cloak emblazed with the self-imposed tag of ‘responsible young man’.

Even soulmates can’t penetrate the psyche of each other.

8

H ope stood at the worktable looking at several galleys of type Winn had set. Eddie brought sunshine into the shop, even though the January skies were gray. “Good morning, Hope. Y-you’re already hard at it, I see.” She nodded. “Hello, Eddie.” Her voice was flat. He walked behind the counter and leaned down to ire four-month-old Dove, who was playing with her hands. She was quietly examining them in her cardboard box play pen. Eddie studied Hope’s downcast demeanor. “Is everything all right?” “Winn’s hungover. I’m hoping the proofs are without error. I don’t think he’s going to be up to making corrections today.” Eddie lightly slapped the table in disgust. “He’s been sober f-for a long time; I thought his drinking days were over. I’m s-sorry, Hope. I’ll check the proofs, but Winn usually doesn’t make mistakes.” Hope looked at her good-natured brother-in-law. “Not typographical ones.” “Right, b-but he makes a mistake every time he takes a drink.” With the back of her hand she brushed hair from her forehead. “He worked late, but seemed to be worried about something. I don’t know what sent him to The Barbed Wire last night.” Eddie scratched his head. “He goes along for m-months without a drink, so I know he doesn’t crave it like Daddy did. Daddy had a bottle with him most of the time, or one hidden somewhere until the Lord healed him and took away his thirst for alcohol.” She coated a small roller with ink from a tray on the table and ran it over the type. “I loved Daddy Prichard, he was so kind to me. I’m glad I didn’t know him when he drank.” She set a sheet of newsprint over the type and made an

impression with a clean roller. “Winn’s just l-like him until that beastly urge takes a hold of him. It seems he wants to get drunk by downing who knows how many glasses or a bottle in just a few hours. To me, that shows it’s on p-purpose, to wipe away his worries I guess.” He took the copy she handed him to proof. “I’ll get this read. C-can I help with anything else right now?” Wiping her hands on a rag, she said, “I’ll let you know.” She focused on the linotype. “The keyboard is so much larger than a typewriter, it looks complicated. Winn knows how to take the entire machine apart and put it back together.” Billy, neatly dressed for school, walked into the shop. “Pop’s going to teach me, Mom. I’ll be setting type when he can’t.” Hope smiled. “You’ll be the fastest typesetter this side of the Mississippi. That’s what your daddy says he is. Maybe you’ll be the second fastest and let him keep his title.” She shed her work apron and picked up Dove from the cardboard box. “Has Marty finished eating?” Before Billy answered, Marty bounded in with his coat hanging off one shoulder. “Yes, Ma’am, he’s finished and raring to go. Hiya, Uncle Eddie.” He stepped toward his sister. “Whatcha say, little Dovey?” His sister answered with a gurgled smile. Hope said, “You boys hurry along now. Behave yourself, Marty.” As they headed toward the front door of the building. Marty said, “Why does she tell me to behave and not you?” Billy said, “’Cause you’re the one who has to be reminded all the time.” Marty took a stance like the cartoon character Yosemite Sam with his hands skyward and fingers making a pistol. “Them’s fightin’ words, Scallywag!” Eddie laughed. “See there, you’re already misbehaving.” Billy laughed and gave Marty a little shove out the door. “He never stops.”

Eddie took the proofs to the front desk and started his chore of reading. Hope carried Dove to the living quarters, fed her and laid her in the crib. She slowly walked to the bed and stood beside Winn, hating to see her handsome husband this way—his face unshaven and puffy. He groaned. She said, “You ready for a cup of coffee?” Running his ink smudged fingers through his hair; he looked around the room as if he were in a strange hotel. Throwing off the sheet, he noticed his dirty hands and seemed surprised. “I didn’t wash up last night.” “You didn’t come home either—not under your own steam, anyway.” “Whew. Guess I do need some coffee.” He stood up, weaved back and forth, steadied himself, and headed for the bathroom. She followed him, leaned on the door frame, and crossed her arms in front of her black and white striped blouse. “What’s the reason this time, Winn?” He splashed water on his face and grabbed a towel. “Where are the boys?” “At school. It’s Wednesday, press day—?” He squinted over the towel at her. “Yeah, I . I meant have they left yet.” “Yes.” She stepped to the stove and turned the burner low under the coffee pot. While the coffee reheated, she took the sheets off the bed and stuffed them in the laundry bag for Moselle Hopkins to wash. After Winn shaved and freshened up, he sat at the table in clean work pants and an undershirt. Hope filled his cup and hers. She sat across from him and waited, unlike years ago when she would have railed, screamed, and cried after one of his binges. When he wasn’t forthcoming, her ire mounted. “Start talking, Winn. I need some answers.” He took a sip and set the cup on the table. “Ugh” and tried it again after two heaping spoonful’s of sugar. “Guess I better cut down since rationing will start soon.” “A baby in the house gives us an extra ration book if we can afford to buy the

sugar. But, if we can’t print the paper because you’re hungover we may not be able to afford anything.” The flammable anger she thought was under control burst from under the surface. Her words blazed at his drunkenness with fury only his sobriety would quench. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why you would go out and drink until you out. Then humiliate yourself and your family with having Mr. Sanders and Rosalie drag you home like a broken down drunk.” Shock spread across his face like a field grass fire on a windy day. “How in the world did those two get involved?” “I’ll explain after you explain.” They heard Eddie whistling. Winn said, “He must be cleaning up the shop.” Hope glared at him and cocked her head to reiterate her impatience. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m tired of this one horse town, Hope. Woodsboro is just a bump in the road on the way to the coast. It’ll be years before it grows—if ever.” An elbow went to the table, he propped his heavy head in his hand. “We’re working day and night and not getting anywhere. We’ve been living in the back of the shop for nine years. Are things any different than when we printed our first issue of the paper?” She leaned forward. “Yes, some things are different. We’ve established a printing business; our paper dream came true here.” Her arm swung out, indicating their surroundings. “Our children have a home; they’re safe and have never gone to bed hungry like I had to sometimes when I was a kid. They have a place to learn the printing trade if that’s what they want to do.” Glaring at him, her face was flushed. “Your mother and Eddie are here where we can take care of them and we’ve given Eddie a job.” She pointed toward the partition door with a sweeping gesture. Winn stared with downcast eyes into his now tepid coffee. Hope went on. “You want to know what’s not different? Your selfish stunts of sneaking out to get drunk—that’s the same. That’s what I want changed, Winn Prichard.” He raked his chair back. “Every week, it’s the same, only now that we’re at war, it’s going to get tougher.” “And you can’t face hardship? You think pulling a bender is going to help? I saw your determination when you were told your leg had to be amputated after your

accident. You fought it and God healed you. We made it through the Depression; we made it through losing Daddy Prichard and Mary Jane. You saved the paper in Humble and helped Mr. Lane get back on his feet.” Her white-knuckled fist pounded the table. “You’re a strong man, Winn—a good man. We can make it through this war and anything else if we face it together without you giving in to that lowdown demon of alcohol.” He stood and pulled her up into his arms. Her body was limp with exhaustion. “Hope, what would I do without you? But, you’ve got to realize the paper’s not growing. We need to think about relocating.” A light tap on the partition door separated them. Winn said, “Yes?” Through the door, Eddie said, “Uh, Winn, sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Benson is here with a printing job. I’m not sure how to figure the price.” Hope brushed away her tears. “Okay, Eddie. Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” She rushed to her dresser mirror, dabbed powder on her face, swabbed her little finger in lip rouge, and rubbed it across her lips. After a quick brush of her hair, off she went.

We can be our own worst enemy, it takes someone who loves us dearly to make us see our strengths.

9

W inn went to the bathroom medicine cabinet for some B.C. headache powder. He opened the wrapper and dumped the granules in his mouth quickly followed by several gulps of water. With a dampened washcloth on his forehead, he plopped back onto the bare mattress. In the shop, after Mr. Benson left, Hope turned the radio on low to Don McNeill’s Breakfast Club which broadcast until almost noon each weekday. Seeing a large sealed crock on the counter, she said, “What’s this, Eddie?” “Mrs. Hornsby’s vegetable soup. S-she dropped it by and said she wants to insert a line in her sewing ad saying she alters coats now. Her c-copy is in the classified ad bin.” He stood at the work table filling the press forms with Winn’s perfect news copy around the regular display ads. Hope donned her work apron and picked up Mr. Benson’s letterhead and envelope order. She went about filling the composting stick with italic font from the type case. Eddie approached her. “I hesitated to knock on your door, b-but I know Mr. Benson is a paying customer.” “You did the right thing. I hope our voices weren’t too loud.” “Oh, no,” Eddie lied. “Is Winn okay?” She inserted a spacer to center the copy. “He’s as good as a man with a hangover can be, I suppose. How’s Mother Prichard this morning?” “Perturbed as usual. Mr. S-swenson’s delivery boy brought Hill’s Brothers coffee instead of Maxwell House. She sent him back to the s-store to exchange it, but not without a lecture on the importance of checking his order with the list Thelma called in. Then she turned her anger to Thelma, accusing her of ordering the wrong kind.” He returned to his task, wagging his head. “I’m glad I didn’t place the order.”

Later, when Hope checked on Dove, she was still sleeping. Winn was also. Both my babies are asleep. She set the crock of soup on the kitchen table and stared at the cups half full of cold coffee. Oh, Lord, you know my prayer for Winn. Give him the courage or whatever it takes to quit drinking. Give me the strength to be his helpmate. When it was warmed, the aroma of soup roused Winn, or maybe it was Hope setting the table for their noon meal prepared by Mrs. Hornsby. She stepped to the back of the shop. “Come have a bowl of soup, Eddie.” He stood hunched by the radio. When he ed them, his face was chalky white. Winn said, “What’s the matter, Eddie?” “T-th-they said on the radio, Hitler wants to annihilate J-Jewish people. He said it in a speech.” “What?” Hope set Dove’s bottle on the table and lifted the baby onto her diaper draped shoulder. “I c-can’t all of it, but Hitler said Jews are his enemy, that t-they were the driving force behind a World War I plot for ’s enemies to triumph.” Winn sat straighter. “That man’s hatred knows no bounds.” “I k-know.” Eddie pulled out his chair with a trembling hand and plopped down. “The announcer said Hitler’s speech was f-filled with inaccuracies about that war. Hitler said the result of this war will be the extinction of Jews.” “God in heaven.” Hope’s face creased with worry. “That man is surely the AntiChrist.” Winn said, “Maybe not the Anti-Christ, but he is certainly anti-Christ. Our army has got to stop him before he can do any more damage.” The three of them sat in silence. Hope rubbed Dove’s back and the baby burped. Caressing Dove, Hope bowed her head and poured out her heart to the Lord, asking wisdom for America’s military leaders, protection of our fighting men, and finally, giving thanks for Mrs. Hornsby’s soup.

Winn’s head still ached in late afternoon. Though his eyes were sandy and his bones hurt, he managed to typeset his column. The state of the nation and news from the front was foremost in the mind of every citizen. Wanting to relate words of hope and encouragement to his readers, Winn briefly wrote about the popular roving war correspondent, Ernie Pyle. Pyle’s reports via wire service were from interviews with the infantry and observations from the front. His folksy manner of writing seemed to give people back home a comforting feeling that our army was standing strong in the face of the enemy and they had a friend in Ernie.

Saturday afternoon, Hope and Winn gave their movie es to the boys to take Hannah and Ramona with Eddie as chaperone to the picture show. They watched Abbot and Costello in One Night in the Tropics. After a sobering newsreel, a film was presented with Bud Abbott and Lou Costello making a plea for the audience to buy war bonds. On the walk to Riley’s Drug Store, Marty recaptured a joyful mood with his imitation of Abbott and Costello’s routine of “Who’s on First”. The first baseman, Who, was the confusing answer, making the comedians go round and round. Billy took over the part of straight man, Abbot, while Marty hammed it up with Costello’s antics. Ramona’s daddy served ice cream sodas to the five of them. Eddie offered to pay, but Mr. Riley said, “Put away your money, Eddie. I appreciate the boys treating Ramona to the movies and you going with them.”

While Billy and Marty were at the movies, Hope and Winn took Dove for a visit with Priscilla. She met them at the kitchen door in a tizzy. “It’s not proper, making a woman of my age and failing health to play a game of stamps. What is this world coming to when I have to look in a ration book to see if I’m allowed to purchase a pound of coffee? I can’t if red stamps are for meat or if it’s blue. The entire thing is ridiculous.” It wasn’t anything new for Winn to witness his mother carry on when current trends and changing laws dared affect her starched life. Her ways were set solid as the pavement on Main Street. He gently took the ration book from her hand. “Mother, don’t concern yourself with this. Eddie loves games, he can be in

charge of the stamps and if you run out, which I doubt, he can let me know. We’ve been give an extra book because of Dove. He can check the schedule we print every week of what will be accepted by the merchants.” Hope sat at the table with Dove on her lap. Winn folded the paper book and stuffed it in his pocket. He pulled out a chair for his mother who stood expecting it. She leaned forward toward Dove and smiled like the sun just broke through the clouds. Hope looked at Winn with an amused glint in her eyes. A stack of knick-knacks and dinnerware on the corner table captured Winn’s attention. “What’s all this?” Priscilla’s momentary pleasant mood switched to scorn. “Made in Japan—all of it made by enemies. I don’t want any of it in my house. It’s stacked there for Thelma to put out in the trash can tomorrow.” With a reasoning tone, Winn said, “Mother, these imports were paid for many years ago, probably made by hard working factory employees. Discarding them isn’t going to cause any loss for the Japanese now.” He took a closer look and picked up a delicate decorative plate. “I this. It hung on our dining room wall back in Georgia.” She said, “Probably hand-painted. It is a reminder of Japan. I don’t want it.” Hope said, “May I see it?” Winn handed it to her. The soft, pastel colors in pinks and greens depicted a floral scene. She turned it over and read the words, ‘made in Japan’. “It’s lovely. May I have it?” Priscilla’s pursed lips burst open with disdain. “You would have that in your house?” “Yes, I have no animosity for the person, probably a woman, who created this so long ago. It speaks of God’s beauty in nature and his gift to the artist to portray it, no matter where.” “Take it then.” Winn retrieved a newspaper from a stack to be thrown out. “Here, let me wrap it in this so it won’t get broken.”

In the weeks ahead, The Woodsboro News gave reports of the newly formed internment camps for Germans, Italians, and Japanese. Anyone who had enemy ancestry was sent to relocation centers, which were constructed by the Army Corps of Engineers. The camps were numerous all around the country and several were in Texas. Crystal City north of San Antonio had the largest capacity. Mother Prichard had much to complain about “those Nazis, I-talians, and—heaven forbid, Japanese” being within a two hundred mile range of her house. In mid-April, Billy and Marty raced through delivering the Houston paper after school. Rushing into the office, Billy almost stumbled as he ran to his mother at the desk. “Mom, a Civil Defense officer came to talk to us today.” Hope looked up, Winn turned from the type case, and Eddie stepped to the counter to turn down the radio. Marty was breathing hard. “Yeah, he told us what to do in an air raid. We had to get under our desk like a real attack. If you hear a siren, grab Dove and get under the kitchen table or something.” Winn said, “We all need to have in mind what to do in case of an emergency.” Billy plopped his books on the desk. “He said we’re going to start practicing blackouts at night.” “W-what does that mean?” Eddie’s hand shook as he rubbed his arm. Marty said, “A warden is going to walk around town and make sure no light shines from anywhere. All windows and doors have to be covered before the sun goes down.” Billy looked at the large window. “We aren’t going to have street lights. An enemy airplane could even see car lights and bomb us.” Hope stood and walked to the counter. “My goodness.” Her voice did little to hide concern. “Do you suppose an attack is expected here?” Winn shook his head. “No, no. It’s a precaution, that’s all. Civil Defense is doing everything to prevent another incident like the Japanese shell that hit the California coast near Santa Barbara. That’s what instigated the internment of Japanese Americans. The blackouts are just another way we’re being protected.”

Hope nodded. “Come on, boys; let’s see if the shades in back cover the windows.” Eddie shed his work apron, his insecure manner even more apparent. “I b-better get on home and check M-mother’s windows.” Announcements were posted around town and a notice was printed in the News stating there would be a blackout Friday evening. Shortly after the sun went down on Friday, there was a pounding on the print shop door. Marty and Billy jumped up from the supper table and raced to the office. Winn followed. Hope’s curiosity was delayed by lifting Dove out of her high chair. Billy opened the door. “Who is it?” “It’s your Air Raid Precautions warden.” A stout figure stood in the shadows. “Cover this window, black means black.” Winn recognized the gravelly voice and stepped onto the porch. “Hello, Sophie. So you’re on patrol?” “That’s right. Look here, Winn, there’s a sliver of light on each side of your front window.” The boys walked out to the edge of the street and looked back at the building. Billy nodded. “Yeah, Pop. We need to cover the sides of the shade Mom put up.” Hope came out with Dove. “Hello, Sophie.” “Evenin’, Mrs. Prichard. I’ve been assigned to patrol on blackout nights ‘round here. Your shade doesn’t quite cover the light in the shop.” She removed her metal hat and ran a hand through her cropped hair. “This is the first night, so I’m seein’ a lot of problems in my area. I expect you’ll see to this.” Winn said, “Sure thing, Sophie. We appreciate what you’re doing.” She plopped the hard hat back on her head. “Just tryin’ to do what I can for the war effort.” Sophie nodded and carried on with her mission. Marty said, “How can we fix it, Mom?” “Well, for now let’s tape it. Tomorrow I’ll see what I can do.”

Hoof beats of war echo across the land with persistent dread, bringing the reign of ominous darkness.

10

August 1, 1942

M arty and his partner, the broom, jived to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy as he sang along with the radio. He’s in the army now, a-blowin’ reveille. He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Compa ny B. Hope heard The Andrews Sisters blaring through the kitchen screen door all the way across the vacant lot. With her arms full of grocery bags, she kicked on the door. “Marty, turn down that radio—first let me in.” Marty swung open the door with the rhythm of the music. She said, “Good heavens, you’ll blow out the tubes with the volume that loud. I’m sure you woke Dove.” “Ah, she was tired of sleepin’, Mom. She liked seeing me dance and did a little jig of her own in her crib.” Hope set the sacks on the kitchen table. “Put these away while I check on her. Did you and your dance partner get any sweeping done?” “What makes you think I was dancing with the broom?” “I’ve seen your act with her before. She really needs to do something about her hair.” He tossed a bag of beans in a cabinet. “I’ve been meaning to talk to her about that.” Hope laughed and cuddled Dove as she picked her up. “Tell me the truth, Sweetheart, did Marty pay any attention to you at all?” Hope’s fingers playfully walked up the baby’s tummy, up her chest, and tickled her neck. Dove grabbed her mother’s hand and giggled that wonderful deep giggle babies do, making Hope laugh again. “Let’s see how Daddy and Billy are doing.”

Billy had a grin as wide as the keyboard in front of him. “Mom, Pop’s teaching me the linotype. Look what I’ve done already.” Winn reached out for Dove and was gratified when her little fingers waved for him to hold her. “There’s my girl.” Hope looked at the tray of solid metal lines of type. Billy said, “Don’t read it, that’s just practice.” “I have a hard time reading it anyway before it’s inked and printed. I’m proud of you, Billy, a linotype operator before you even turn thirteen.” “I will be thirteen—tomorrow. Ah, Mom, you didn’t forget?” Winn said, “Thirteen-years-old? So soon?” Billy said, “What do you mean, soon? I’ve been waiting all my life to be a teenager.” Hope leaned over his shoulder and pressed her cheek against his. “You’ve always been such a big boy.” She stood and faced him. “We’re going to give you our movie es, Eddie too, so you can invite three friends along with Marty to the picture show tomorrow afternoon. Then afterward, I’ll have a cake for you.” “Gee whillikers, thanks, Mom, you’re the best!” The postman made the bell over the front door jangle. Hope and Winn ambled to the front counter. Winn said, “Well, Newton, you’re making the rounds late, especially for a Saturday.” “I got a late start this mornin’.” He pursed his lips with a side-ways movement of his jaw. “My daughter, Maureen, called from Houston where she’s been working.” Hope put her hand on the counter. “I Maureen. Is she all right, Mr. Archer?” “She’s all right, but my wife’s upset. I had to stay with her until she sorta calmed down.” His eyes were sad. “Maureen’s signed up with the WAAC’s, Women’s uh, …Army something or other.”

Winn said, “Women’s Auxiliary Army Corp.” “That’s it.” Archer nodded. “Maureen and her roommate are leaving today for the training center in Ft. Des Moines, Iowa. This thing was just organized you know. Mrs. Hobby in Houston pulled some strings and got it approved.” He shook his head. “Lois hit the roof.” Dove became restless and Hope took her from Winn. “Well, I don’t think women will be sent to dangerous areas, Mr. Archer. Surely they’ll take over some of the military office jobs men vacated.” “Right.” Winn walked around the counter and put a comforting hand on the postman’s shoulder. “I read about the WAAC’s. Your daughter will be making a worthy contribution. She’ll most likely be placed in a clerical position, maybe she’ll be a driver, or possibly trained for the Aircraft Warning Service. Try to convince Mrs. Archer not to worry.” Newton gave Winn a feeble smile. “That’s a tall order, but I’ll tell Lois what you said.” He turned toward the door. “Oh, I almost forgot what I came for, here’s a letter for you Mrs. Prichard.” He had seen the postmark from Hempstead many times over the years. It always brought a smile to Hope’s face. “Well, at least I made somebody happy today.” The bell jangled with Newton’s departure. “It feels thick. Mama must have a lot of news.” She sat Dove on the quilt padding in her cardboard box with her rattles and cloth doll. A Hempstead News clipping was folded inside Octavia’s lined note paper. “For heaven’s sake, it’s a picture of Papa on the wagon pulled by Old Bony.” Billy ran to have a look. “What’s Grandpa’s picture in the paper for, Mom?” “It says, ‘Seventy-five-year-old, Hollis Davidson, s in Hempstead’s collection of metal for the war effort.’ Well, I declare. Papa never did anything like that before.” Winn peered at the article. “Maybe since Buford is out there in the Navy, Hollis decided to do his part. This gives me an idea to run a campaign for Woodsboro to get out and see what we can contribute.”

Billy said, “How old is Old Bony. He’s sure got a sway back.” Hope nodded. “He’s ancient, I’m surprised he can still get around, much less pull the wagon filled with metal.”

Sunday morning, Hope and the boys walked to church. Marty and Billy met up with Jimmy Burns and Bubba Miller. She heard Billy invite them to the movie. Jimmy and Bubba followed Marty to the Sunday school department. Billy returned to his mother. “You want me to take Dove to the nursery?” “No, I’ll take her, you run along. But, I’m surprised you invited those boys. Weren’t they the ones who bullied Marty at school a while back?” “Yes, ma’am. Marty sure couldn’t fight back and I told ‘um if they laid a hand on my brother, they had to answer to me. We were about to duke it out a few weeks ago when Uncle Eddie saw us out in the vacant lot. He walked over and invited all of us to Riley’s for an ice cream soda. Guess they figured that was better than a black eye. At the drug store, Marty made all of us laugh and we’ve been friends ever since. They’re good guys when you get to know ‘um.” Her lips took an approving upward turn. “A soda is much better than a scuffle anytime, and a friend is certainly better than an enemy. Are you going to invite Cornelius?” “Already have. See ya in church.” Hope noticed Eugene Upton with Lenora Parks on the steps talking with Pastor Goodman. In the nursery, Eugene’s tiny mother hurried to take charge of Dove. “Oh, how’s my little angel this morning?” “She may not be an angel today, Mrs. Upton. She’s cutting more teeth.” Hope reached in the bag of diapers and handed Dove a teething ring. Mrs. Upton said, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Don’t you look nice? That yellow and brown brings out the gold in your pretty brown eyes.” “Why, thank you.” Hope surveyed the dress she finished making last week. “I saw your son going into the church; he’s been coming quite often lately.”

“Yes, thank the Lord and thanks to Lenora.” Her chubby face beamed. “They are an item you know. I think you may be printing an engagement announcement in the paper soon.” The little lady’s news was surprising and shocking and even amusing. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for them—and for you.” With a giggle, Mrs. Upton jiggled Dove on her hip. “I never thought anyone could break through Eugene’s hard shell, he spent all his time at the bank. But at the fellowship in December, celebrating the news about Lenora’s sons surviving the Pearl Harbor attack, he suddenly became extremely interested in her. He began calling on her and now…” Tears sprang into her eyes. “I may at last have a daughter-in-law, Lord willing.”

After a pot roast dinner, Marty and Billy waited for Jimmy, Bubba, and Cornelius in front of the print shop. When their friends arrived, Billy stuck his head in the door and yelled, “They’re here—we’re going.” Winn, at the linotype, yelled back. “Okay, kids, have fun.” He stretched and walked to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Hope smoothed icing on the triple layer chocolate cake. He said, “That looks good enough to eat.” Swiping a finger across the side, he licked a big helping of white icing. “Stop that. When I finish, you can lick the bowl, if I have any left after that highway robbery.” She covered the spot and made a final swirl across the top. “Pour a cup for me and I’ll you.” Moving the cake from the table, she said, “I better get this out of your reach. You need to go easy on the sugar; I’ve used most of the staples rations in one of our books.” He sat the cups on the table and pulled out two chairs. “You know I can’t do without it in my coffee.” He grabbed the sugar bowl which was almost empty and scraped the remaining granules into his cup. “How was church this morning?” Hope washed her hands and sat beside him. “If you would’ve come, you would have heard a good sermon on The Beatitudes.” Said with a smile, her eyes betrayed a reprimand. “Oh, and believe it or not, Mrs. Upton told me Eugene and Widow Parks are seeing each other.”

“I see them too—every now and then.” Teasing eyes peered over his cup as he took a sip. “No—you know what I mean.” A smile pulled at her lips. “They’re practically engaged. Grumpy Mr. Upton, of all people. He had a pleasant look this morning —almost happy.” “Well, I’ll be. He has been almost human lately when I pick up his bank copy. I wondered if something had happened to change his disposition. I don’t know whether to be happy for Mrs. Parks, or pity her.” “Let’s be happy for them both. You know a man can’t become a better man without a good woman.” “Is that right? Who said that?” “I did and I know from experience.” She wrinkled her nose in a ‘so there’ look. When she stood, he grabbed her waist; she landed in his lap and he kissed the back of her neck. She turned and got lost in his dark chocolate eyes. They kissed like lovers who have commitment etched in their hearts.

They had their issues, but she was just his type and he spelled that out for her—often.

11

T he boys’ laughter floated across the vacant lot. Winn met them at the door. “Hello, Fellas, how was the movie?” Cornelius said, “Hello, Mr. Prichard. It was funny.” Billy said, “Hi, Pop. I don’t think you’ve met Jimmy Burns and Bubba Miller.” Winn stuck out his hand. “No I haven’t, pleased to meet you. Come on in.” Both boys shook his hand. Marty was last to come inside. “Ah, I didn’t think the movie was that great. It was one of those Andy Hardy pictures where Mickey Rooney talks his parents into letting him do stuff, then he gets in a jam, and Judy Garland helps him out. At the end they lead a hundred kids marching up the street singing. Music comes from nowhere. I imagined horn players in the trees and drummers hiding behind houses.” Cornelius said, “Yeah, all of sudden they’re singing and dancing like they’re out to save the whole town.” “It’s called a musical, you knuckleheads.” Billy sat at the table. “I love musicals.” Hope lit the thirteen candles. “Speaking of singing, let’s sing Happy Birthday.” Dove woke in time for the birthday song and clapped with the others when Billy blew out the candles. Hope cut big slices for everyone. The chatter continued for the five lively boys. Billy swallowed his lemonade with a gulp. “Pop, after the movie, Mickey Rooney was in a short film and said the theater was going to have a paper drive. Kids can get in free if they bring a wagon of paper. What does the army need it for?”

“Paper is needed for many things in the military. It’s used to pack arms, ammunition, and explosives. Cardboard boxes are made out of paper to ship rations and other supplies.” Eddie said, “We can d-donate a lot of paper from around here.” Marty gave Dove a bite of cake. “But we already get free tickets to the movie every week.” Hope looked at their guests. “You boys could pick up our waste paper and unsold newspapers each week if you want.” “That’s swell of you, Mrs. Prichard,” Bubba said. Cornelius’ eyes lit up. “I have a wagon we can use.” They looked at Jimmy; he nodded with downcast eyes. Bubba and Cornelius bubbled over with ideas of where they could find more paper. Their enthusiasm didn’t seem to move Jimmy. Hope noticed his faded shirt was a size too small. I wonder what’s bothering him; maybe there was another confrontation with Marty. Marty and Billy placed their saucers in the sink. The others did the same. Cornelius opened the back door. “Thank you for the movie and the cake, Mrs. Prichard.” Bubba and Jimmy murmured their thanks. After walking a block with their friends, Billy and Marty returned home and sat at the table with another glass of lemonade. Billy brushed hair from his forehead. “Jimmy said he was sorry for wanting to beat up on Marty. I could tell he felt bad about it.” Marty nodded. “Yeah, he said he wished he had a Mom to bake a cake for him and he said you’re a real nice man, Pop, and you too, Uncle Eddie.” “H-he doesn’t have a mother?” Eddie’s doe eyes held comion. “Nope,” Marty said. “And I heard his old man beats up on him.” Hope placed a hand to her chest. “Oh, how awful. We never know what makes

people act the way they do. I’m proud of you for being a Christian example of how we should treat each other.” Billy said, “Y’all treated him like a Christian should too.” Marty sounded serious for a change. “And Mom, you said they could have our old papers to get to see the picture show. I don’t think Jimmy ever gets to go.” Dove’s sticky fingers smeared icing in circles on her high chair tray. She clapped. Eddie laughed heartily. “T-that’s a good way to end the p-party, with a good deed and clapping.” He stood and placed his glass on the drain board. “Thank you, Hope, for the cake. And thank you, Fellas, for a wonderful afternoon with your friends. They’re good boys—n-not as good as you, but good.” Winston patted his brother on the back. “Thanks for coming to help us celebrate. It’s hard to believe Billy’s a teenager. Time has ed so quickly.” Eddie gave his nephew a big grin. “I once s-saw a picture of a frog on a lily-pad. On the top, it said, ‘Time flies when you’re having fun’. Underneath the caption said, ‘Time is fun when you’re having flies’.” After the laughter, he looked at Hope as if he just ed something. “I almost f-forgot. M-mother, ah, she asked me to tell you to come over.” Marty said, “Uh oh, what did we do wrong now?” “It isn’t you. It’s Sears and Roebuck.” Hope frowned. “Sears and Roebuck?” “I can’t explain, Hope. M-maybe you can go over and unruffle her feathers.”

Priscilla spied Winn and his family walking toward her house. She struggled out of her wing-back chair in front of the living room window and made her way to the kitchen door. Everyone who entered her home dared not do so by the front door for fear of leaving dirt on the rug which was placed there to catch dirt. She stood at the screened door. “Well, you certainly took long enough.”

Winn pulled the handle and almost yanked it off. “You could at least unlatch the door, Mother.” She flipped the hook with an aura hotter than the August afternoon. “You never know what manner of scum could be on our streets now with those foreigners practically at our doorstep.” “Oh, Mother, the closest internment camp is two hundred miles away and they aren’t roaming around to see who has their back door unlocked anyway.” Winn’s eyes flashed. Warily, Billy stepped inside. “Hello, Grandmother.” “I’m not in the mood for any unnecessary talk.” She turned toward the table. Eddie pulled a kitchen chair out for her. “But, M-mother, it’s Billy’s birthday.” She said, “Haven’t all of you finished with that?” Hope placed a plate covered with wax paper on the table. “Not completely, Mother Prichard. Billy wanted you to have a piece of his cake.” “Oh, well.” Her eyes swayed toward Billy. “Thank you, William.” She looked away then back. “Happy birthday.” It was said as if she just asked him to empty the trash can. Marty, standing behind her, rolled his eyes. Billy said, “Thank you, Ma’am.” Winn sat at the table, placing Dove on his lap. Priscilla was too distraught to be enamored with the baby. “Look here, Hope.” She slapped a hand on a dress folded on the table. “I have ordered dresses from Sears and Roebuck for years and have never seen such inferior quality.” Hope sat beside Winn and picked up the dress, taking note of the soft, brushed cotton material. She looked over the neckline, each seam, and hem, finding no problem. “It’s a nice dress, is it not the one you ordered?” Priscilla pointed to a table in the corner of the kitchen. “Hand me that catalog, Edward. Look at that picture on page thirty-two. Does it look like the same dress?”

Hope and Winn examined the illustration. Billy and Marty leaned in to get a look. Marty started to say something, but Hope spoke first. “I think I understand your problem.” Priscilla’s temper flashed. “My problem? This situation is not my problem. It is their problem for sending this dress which has little resemblance to this ment.” She pounded the catalog with a pointed finger. “I’m sorry, I meant THE problem, not your problem, Mother Prichard.” Hope shifted in her chair. “Because of the war, there are shortages of everything. I noticed the pattern for this dress I just made was modified to use less material. Skirts are shorter, sleeves are shorter and they are doing away with pockets and belts.” “Humph.” Priscilla crossed her arms on her chest. Hope went on. “This catalog is from last year, but the order number was probably the same when you recently ordered. The quality is good; you’re just not used to the shorter style.” Billy said, “We talked about shortages at school.” Marty said, “Mrs. Ingersoll, my teacher, said nylon is needed for parachutes, so nylon stockings are not in stores anymore. She draws a line on the back of her leg to look like a seam— but she gets it crooked.” Priscilla slowly turned to give Marty an incredulous glare. “Young Man, since when do boys your age look at their teacher’s legs?” He took a deep breath to answer her. “She showed us the black line on her leg and said women are in this fight too.” His grandmother’s glare turned to stone as she directed it to Winn. “I’m utterly appalled with this report about your son’s teacher, Winston. You must report her unprofessional behavior to the superintendent. She is defiling young minds with thoughts of legs instead of instructing them in the basics of education. I never!” Eddie leaned on the kitchen counter, looking relieved to be out of the conversation. Winn placed his arm on the table. “Mother, I assure you, Mrs. Ingersoll is an outstanding teacher above reproach. It appears she was simply

explaining the shortages and how many of us are coping with them. I think it was a valuable lesson in making do without some of the things we’ve been accustomed to. A good example of accepting the changes taking place in our country is your dress here.” He picked up the edge of the frock. “I suggest you return it. I’m sure you have ample dresses in your closet.” Marty seemed to be struck with a boost of bravery. “That’s right, Grandmother, you never go anywhere anyway.” Priscilla’s hand flew to her neck. “I should have known I would get no understanding from the lot of you. Winston you desperately need to nip in the bud Martin’s insolence.” She feebly stood. “But what can you expect from a child who sits under the tutelage of a teacher with such scathingly low standards concerning her responsibility to instill respect and high morals in her students.” Marty restrained the urge to kick her in her skinny shin. He was never so proud of Mrs. Ingersoll. Anyone who caused his grandmother to rail against them was a friend of his. Hope stood and almost reached out to touch Priscilla’s arm, but stopped herself. “Mother Prichard, please don’t be upset. I can bundle the dress and return it for you if you wish.” “Take it. I don’t care what you do with it. This visit has been unsettling. I need to retire.” As she walked away, her family breathed the air of rejection. They walked toward the door, Winn holding Dove and Hope carrying the Sears and Roebuck dress. Eddie said, “I’m sorry.” He put his arm around Billy, then Marty. “I’m sorry.” Marty smiled, “That’s okay, Uncle Eddie. You can’t help how other people act.” “That’s right,” Billy said. “ what Mom said about Jimmy. We don’t know what makes people act the way they do.” Priscilla listened at her open bedroom door. Her grandsons’ words sent a jolt of regret through her.

Sticks and stones can break our bones, but words can crush our heart and tear us apart.

12

F riday, after his paper route, Billy grabbed a couple oatmeal cookies and washed them down with a glass of water. “Hey, Mom.” He walked to the work table in the shop. “The cookies taste different.” “I made them with oleo instead of butter.” “You mean that white glob you mash orange stuff into so it looks like butter?” She nodded. He made a face. “I didn’t know you were going to put it in the cookies.” “If we had a cow, I could churn some butter for the cookies. But since we don’t, I have to use what we have and we have oleo.” She straightened and heaved a sigh. “Where’s Marty?” “Still delivering his papers I guess. Can I practice on the linotype?” “I don’t know—can you?” “Yes I can, but may I?” He grinned and hurried to the machine. “Your cookies are okay. Just not as good as they were with real butter.” Marty flew into the shop from the living quarters like he was shot out of a cannon. “Mom, a big fancy car is out front and a man and lady are talking to Pop. I saw ‘um and ran around to the back to tell you.” She peered out the front window. “Wonder who that could be?” Winn slapped the man on the back and direct them into the office. Billy, Marty, and Hope stood like sentries at the counter as Winn ushered the strangers into the office. “Hope—Boys, I want you to meet my cousin, Ace, and his wife, Carlotta.” Winn’s smile was fully alive. He waved a hand toward his gaping family. “This is my wife, Hope, and my boys, Billy and Marty. Our little girl, Dove, must be sleeping.”

Ace was meticulously dressed in tailored tan pants with an open collar dark brown shirt. Carlotta, in stylish, thick, open-toe, high heels, wore an orange three tiered full skirt. The off-the-shoulders white peasant blouse showed off her lovely bronze skin. A colorful beaded necklace and large hoop earrings lead one to think she was going to a fiesta, or maybe bringing one with her. Hope, in her smudged work apron forced a smile. “How do you do?” I would never wear a blouse like that. And those heels, how does she walk in them? “Yes, Dove is asleep over there in the box.” Carlotta laughed; it sounded more like a whinny. “A baby named, Dove, is kept in a box?” Hope’s eyes clouded and Carlotta hurried on. “Oh, don’t be offended. Back in our circus days, children slept in cages sometime during a show, just so they wouldn’t wander off while their parents were on a trapeze or riding an elephant.” Her comment obviously awakened curiosity in the boys even more than the couple’s big car and finery. Wide-eyed, Marty’s mouth flew open. Billy said, “You worked in a circus?” Ace was a tall, handsome man, older than Winn. He put his arm around Carlotta, who was attractive, but long past youth. “Indeed, we both are from circus families. Surely your daddy has told you about the Prichard Brothers Circus?” Winn didn’t give the boys time to answer. “Well, come on in, we don’t have to stand here. Hope, can we offer these weary travelers a glass of ice water?” Hope quickly untied her apron. “Of course. There’s a pitcher of tea in the icebox. We may have some cookies if the boys haven’t eaten them all.” “No, Mom, there’s still some in the jar.” Billy’s gaze bounced from Ace to Carlotta. Hope hurried to the kitchen. My Lands, Winn never mentioned anything about a circus. In the living quarters, she hesitated, seeing it with a stranger’s eyes. We have no place for them to sit except at the table. Well, if it’s not good enough, they can go to the Warren Hotel for their cold drink. Marty followed her. “Mom, do you know about a Prichard Circus?” “No, your daddy never mentioned it. Get down those good glasses, will you?”

She rubbed her hands on her skirt. “I hope we have enough sugar.” She heard Winn telling them about the paper and equipment as they made their way toward the back. At the partition door she heard him say. “Sorry we don’t have anything stronger than tea, Ace. Hope doesn’t keep anything in the house.” Uncomfortable wariness pricked her suspicion. Billy and Marty helped serve the tea and then settled on stools. Winn said, “I’ll tell you boys about the circus later, but I want to get caught up with all the news about Ace and Carlotta right now.” He turned to Ace. “So what have you been doing with yourselves?” Ace pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket and offered it to Winn. He shook his head no. Ace then tilted it toward Hope. “Do you mind?” “No. Billy, bring the floor fan from the shop.” I’m glad the door and windows are open. She took in Carlotta’s attire again. She probably never sweats. Billy took his eyes away from the sparkling gem set in a large gold ring on Ace’s finger, hurriedly got the fan, and plugged it in. Carlotta glanced around the room. “This is much bigger than the trailer we stayed in when I was growing up.” “It’s larger than some of the hotel rooms we stay in when we’re on the road.” Ace lit his smoke, flicked the silver lighter shut, and stuffed it back in his pants pocket. Winn said, “You’re still on the road?” Ace took a sip of tea. “I’ve got a gimmick so slick I wonder why nobody else thought of it. You know how Uncle Joe used to gather a crowd just by talking loud and sounding like he had some exciting news?” “Sure, but he had a parade of circus wagons.” Carlotta said, “We’ve found people in small towns are curious about anyone who stands in the square or on Main Street and announce he has something every household can’t do without.”

Ace held his cigar up and looked at Hope. She got the message and quickly put a saucer on the table for his ashes. “Thank you, Hope.” He took a puff and fixed his eyes on Winn. “I guess you knew Uncle Joe retired over in Bandera. Franco, Cisco, and Birdo took over the circus.” Marty said, “Franco, Cisco, and Birdo? That sounds like the Marx Brothers, Groucho, Chico and Harpo.” Carlotta’s whinny woke Dove. Hope pushed back her chair when the baby cried. She tossed an impatient look toward Winn. Ace’s laugh was hearty. “I’ll have to tell them that next time I run into them. That’s a sharp kid you got there, Winn. Anyway, Birdo got tired of circus life and sold his part of the business to his brothers. He bought a little place by Uncle Joe. Not long after that, Cisco sold his part, which included Erwin’s trapeze act, the main attraction, to Barnum and Bailey. That left Franco with the elephants, trick horseback riders, and rinky-dink carnival. I don’t think he can compete with the big boys. He’ll probably be retiring soon.” Billy said, “So what do you do, Mr. uh…?” “You can call me Ace.” He crossed a leg over his knee. “I was getting around to that. Since Carlotta’s too old to do her contortion act ….” Carlotta cleared her throat. “Pardon me, Pet.” Ace flicked his ashes. “We left Franco’s outfit because of extenuating circumstances, but we can still draw crowds.” Hope had changed the baby and sat her in the highchair with a Zwieback cracker. “What do you draw a crowd for?” Carlotta held out her manicured hand for Dove and the baby grasped it. Smiling, she answered Hope. “Ace raises the hood of the car and lights a fire on top of the engine.” Both boys almost fell off their stool. Winn leaned forward. “What?” Laughing at their reaction, Ace said, “That’s the response I get everywhere. Before I set the fire, I tell the folks I have a product every kitchen has to have near their stove. I have my jar of white powder in my hand and give them a demonstration. As soon as the fire starts, I douse it with the powder, and it goes out immediately. Every one of them pays a dollar for a jar and off we go to the

next town.” Hope said, “What’s the powder?” “Ah, a medicine man never tells his secret ingredient.” He looked at Billy and Marty. “Here’s a lesson for you, Boys. If you have something for sale, you have to let people know it—loud and clear. If you’re confident and believe in yourself, folks will believe in you too.” Carlotta’s head tilted with pride as she looked at her husband. “He can convince anybody of most anything. Sweetie, go ahead and tell Winn what you want him to print.” “Oh, right you are, My Pet.” He uncrossed his leg and reached in his pocket. “I have a little rough draft here, Winn. I’m wondering if you can print up some labels for my jars. I’ll pay you, of course.” Winn leaned in to see the paper. “Sure. I see you have the dimensions. How many do you need?” “Oh, about a thousand, I suppose. That ought to do us for a little while.” Billy slid off his stool to have a look. “A thousand? You must sell a lot of jars?” “When do you need them?” Hope said. Carlotta looked at her skirt and whisked away a cookie crumb. “Sometime next week. We’re going to see Ace’s mother’s down in the valley. I’ll give you the address and you can send them there.” Ace stood. “We have a room at the Warren Hotel for tonight, but we want to stop by to see Aunt Priscilla and Eddie.” They all stood. It just dawned on Hope the question of how Ace knew they were in Woodsboro. “How were you able to find us?” Winn slid his chair under the table. “I know Mother writes to Aunt Dolly every now and then. Did she give you our address?” “That’s right. Mama let us know how to reach you. Why don’t you go with us to

Aunt Priscilla’s house for a while?” Ace headed toward the shop door. Marty said, “Can we go to Grandmother’s house with you, Pop?” “Since when did you want to go to her house?” Winn’s mouth curved into a smile. “Since we can ride in a big car.” Billy said with a hopeful look. Ace said, “Let’s all pile in the car.” That eerie feeling continued creeping inside Hope. “I need to bathe Dove and start supper. Boys, maybe you should stay here.” Their look of disappointment almost held enough persuasion to change her mind. I don’t want them to go anywhere with these people. I don’t want Winn to go. Winn said, “I think the boys can go with us for a little while, Hope.” They filed out of the kitchen, Winn followed behind. When Hope yanked his shirt sleeve, he said to the others, “I’ll be with y’all in a minute.” Hope pulled him behind the partition and spoke softly. “Winn, you have the strangest relatives. You never mentioned these people the entire time we’ve been married. I don’t have a good feeling about them. Make some excuse not to go with them and don’t let the boys go.” Winn patted her arm. “Sugar, I wasn’t trying to hide that side of the family, it just never came up and they travel all the time. Out of sight, out of conversation, I guess. Anyway, Ace is my cousin—his mother, Aunt Dolly, is Daddy’s sister. I probably won’t see them again for another fifteen years. The boys will be fine.” She picked up the baby and followed them to the car. Carlotta handed a jar to Hope. “Here, Hope, your kitchen shouldn’t be without this near your stove.” Winn and the boys climbed in the back seat. Marty said, “Hubba, hubba. Will this carriage turn into a pumpkin at midnight?” Carlotta whinnied as they drove away. In the kitchen, Hope sat Dove in the high chair and opened the half pint jar. Curious, she smelled the white powder. “Hum.” She put a small amount on her tongue and slowly placed the jar on the table. Disbelief covered her face. Disgusted, she said aloud, “Baking soda, plain

old baking soda.”

There’s a sucker born every minute. That nineteenth century phrase has been accredited to P. T. Barnum, but the earliest appearance was in 1885 by a confidence man known as “Hungry Joe.” It is also believed to be coined by others such as, David Hannum, Michael Cassius McDonald, and con man, Paper Collar Joe Bessiner. We were suckers to believe Barnum said it first.

13

A s shadows grew long, Billy and Marty walked home from Priscilla’s house. A potato soup supper was waiting on the stove. If Hope was a betting woman, she would’ve bet anyone Winn would not come home with the boys. “Where’s your daddy?” Marty said, “Pop told us he’d be along directly. Ace gave us a quarter, a whole quarter—each.” He held up his coin. Hands on her hips, Hope said, “Well, I hope he didn’t give you any ideas about his ‘so called’ grand life of going around town to town like gypsies fooling people into thinking baking soda is a fire extinguisher.” Marty’s face fell. “He sells baking soda in those jars?” Billy said, “But it does put out fires, I saw you use it one time. He’s not lying about that.” “No, but he charges a dollar for something that can be bought at the grocery store for pennies. In my book, that’s a sin. Come to think of it, bamboozling folks might be a sin in God’s book too.” Without a word, Marty went to Dove’s crib. “Hi, Dovey. You dropped your rattle.” He picked up the toy and handed it to her. She threw it on the floor and laughed when he tickled her. Billy leaned on the side of the kitchen cabinet. “Grandmother didn’t seem real happy to see them.” Hope reached for bowls on the shelf. “Oh? Was Eddie glad to see them?” “You know Uncle Eddie. He’s always happy to see anyone. Grandmother just sat in her big chair in the living room and didn’t say much. I got the feeling she doesn’t like them.”

“Well, that’s not unusual for your grandmother.” She dished up the soup and put a basket of carrot muffins on the table. “Supper’s ready, Marty. Bring Dove and put her in the high chair, please.” “Okay, Mom. Come on, little girl, time to eat.” He got her settled and slid into his chair. “Pop said to tell you he’s going to eat with Ace and Carlotta.” “Hmm, I could’ve guessed that.” Hope held outstretched hands to each side of the table. “Billy, will you say the blessing tonight?” “Sure, Mom.” He grasped her hand and Dove’s. “Lord Jesus, we thank you for our food and everything else you give us. And … and take care of Pop.” His troubled eyes met his mother’s. A maddening uncertainty held reign over her thoughts all evening and grew to outright fury. Anger filled her so completely just before eleven she didn’t care if she woke the children. She made sure the front door was locked. Winn didn’t have a key to that entrance. She located a two by four board and centered it vertically over the back door, nailing it to the upper door frame. The boys jumped out of bed. Billy said, “What are you doing, Mom? Pop’s not home yet?” “No he’s not home and he’s not going to be after I finish hammering this so he can’t get in.” With the last swing of the hammer, Dove started crying. Marty said, “I’ll get her.” On the way to the bedroom, he muttered in his Elmer Fudd voice. “Boy, oh boy. This is a vewy, vewy, stwange day.” Red in the face and shaking, Hope turned from the door. “Hold her a minute, Marty, while I heat her bottle. We’re going to turn out the lights and go back to bed.” Hope took the baby to bed with her. The boys crawled back into their bed. Marty whispered, “What do you think Pop’s going to do, Billy?” “It depends. If he’s real drunk, somebody might bring him home and Mom will have to open the front door. If he’s half-way drunk, he might sleep it off on the porch. If he’s only a little drunk, he’ll bust the kitchen door down.”

Around twelve, the boys were still awake listening for whatever scenario might occur. First, they heard the front door rattle. A minute later, a knock was on the back door, soft—then harder. Billy hopped out of bed and Marty rolled to the edge and followed his brother to their bedroom door. They heard Winn. “Hope.” Knock, knock, rattle, rattle. “Hope, let me in, this door’s stuck or something.” Billy whispered, “He doesn’t sound too drunk.” “Do you really think he can bust down the door?” Hope turned on the bedside lamp and walked to the kitchen. The boys stood beside her like pillars holding up the ceiling. Knock—knock knock knock. “Sugar, open up.” The three of them stared at the door with feet glued to the floor. Suddenly it banged with new vengeance, a power fueled by determination. Marty said, “I bet he looks James Cagney with his shoulder banging against the door like in a gangster movie.” When the door jarred again, the wood over the door moved and then came another strong thrust. The wood dangled on the nail. “The nail’s going to come out, Mom.” Just as Billy said it, the door flew open. The nail came out and the board came down on Winn’s head. He fell to the floor on top of the board. Hope and the boys ran to him. Her heart was beating hard against her chest. She hollered hysterically. “Winn, are you hurt? Oh no, what have I done?” Billy said, “Pop, are you all right?” The three of them leaned close to his face. Winn looked from one to the other, when his gaze met Marty’s, Marty said, “What’s up, Doc?” Surprise laughter exploded out of Winn’s mouth. He sat crossed legged on the floor, his chest heaving. Hope was in shock. “Winn, you’re not drunk.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Is that a question or a statement?”

She flung her arms around him. “It’s a statement, a very happy statement.” She chuckled. The four of them sat on the floor and laughed. Billy said, “We’ve had more excitement today than I can ever . You should’ve seen yourself, Pop, flying through the door and then that board fell on your head.” Winn looked around. “Where did the board come from anyway?” Marty said, “It must’ve come out of the ceiling. You need to talk to Mr. Benson about fixing this old place—doors sticking and boards falling.” “Right.” Winn struggled his way to a standing position. Billy went to the cookie jar. “Dove is so used to presses running she can sleep through almost anything.” Marty followed him and grabbed a cookie. “Except Mom hammering a board over the door.” He looked at his daddy. “Oops.” “So that was it. I’m glad it wasn’t any bigger” Winn winked at Hope. “Only because I couldn’t find a bigger one.” Hope’s teasing smile broke loose. She was never very good at pretense of anger. He put an arm around her. “You’re a feisty gal, which can work against me sometime.” “And don’t you forget it.” Her finger poked his chest several times. Hope put Dove in her crib and the boys went to bed with giggling fits before settling down. Snuggled beside Winn, Hope said, “Where were you, what were you doing all night?” “Midnight is only half of the night, so I wasn’t gone all night. We went to the Warren Hotel Restaurant for dinner and got to talking about old times when we were kids back in Georgia. Time just slipped away.” “When do the Warren’s close?” “They close at nine or whenever the last table leaves. Ward told us to stay as

long as we liked. After a while, I went with Ace and Carlotta up to their room and talked until I realized how late it was. It was good to see them after such a long time.” “I thought since you told Ace we didn’t have anything stronger than tea, he was a drinker and would get you started.” “He used to drink, quite a bit, in his younger days, but he had a heart attack a few years ago. His doctor gave him a severe warning. It scared him enough to quit—cold turkey, he said.” She thought of the jar Carlotta gave her. “Do you know what’s in the jar he sells for a dollar?” “Probably baking soda.” “Five cents worth of baking soda, that’s right. I’m surprised he can make a living hoodwinking poor people.” “He’s a showman, Hope, been in show business since he was a kid. People flock to see someone like him dressed up in a white suit. He showed me his promotion picture. I imagine he puts on quite a performance, it’s probably worth a dollar.” He yawned. “It made me kind of sad, really. Ace is getting old and doesn’t know how to do anything else. Aunt Dolly has a grapefruit orchard near Harlingen in the Rio Grande Valley. They’re heading down there in the morning. I have an idea they’ll settle there.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead and turned on his side. “Then why did he ask you to print all those labels?” “To keep up appearances. All for show, Sugar, all for show.”

A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.

Proverbs 22:1

14

Saturday morning, August 29th, 1942 —

D ove played quietly in her crib until deciding she was hungry. Her cries woke Hope. “Here I am, Sweetheart. Did you think I forgot about you?” The boys were sleeping soundly, their gangly legs sprawled every which way. After changing Dove’s diaper, Hope brought her in the kitchen and put her in the highchair. She heard Eddie whistling in the shop and looked at the clock on the rough wood wall. “Eight-thirty? No wonder you’re hungry.” A note was on the table. Sugar, I didn’t want to wake you. I’m going to Mac’s for breakfast.

Jack whistled as Winn opened the screen door. “Morning, Mac, looks like you have a full house. The aroma of coffee must’ve lured most of the town.” Roger said, “The coffee lured us, but the food’s disappointin’ us.” Winn found a stool at the end of the counter. “Ah, I don’t believe that and just to prove it, I’ll have two eggs shipwrecked, grits, sausage, and biscuits.” “You can’t put away that much food.” Sam said. “Just watch me.” Winn looked around the small diner and saw Sophie. “How are you, Sophie? How’s the patrol going?” “Gettin’ everybody to understand blackouts is like trying to stop a stampede with a pop gun. You tell ‘um one night and the next night the shades are still gaping open.” Mac set a mug of coffee in front of Winn. “At least you’re doin’ your part, Sophie.” She raised her cup in a salute of thanks.

Sam said, “I heard on the radio we’re in for a storm tonight. They’re reporting rain and high wind. Better wear your raincoat on your rounds, Sophie.” Mr. Gillespie said, “On the way over here, I saw Mr. Riley out taping his front window. He heard the winds might even be hurricane force.” Roger took a half turn on his stool. “Humph. How in the world is some tape gonna stop a hurricane from breakin’ a window? And another thing, y’all are plumb loco to think some enemy airplane is gonna come to Woodsboro and drop a bomb because a sliver of light is seen through a window. For cryin’ out loud, they have maps and they’ll more likely drop a bomb over in Corpus before this burg.” The diners locked their eyes on Codger. Winn leaned around Sam. “As usual, Roger, you’re taking a vested interest in disagreement. You can’t blame folks for trying to protect their property even against all odds. It’s human nature.” The old guy gave Winn a sly smirk. “And you can’t blame me for enjoyin’ my only means of recreation—givin’ everybody a hard time.” Sam slapped him on the back. “And you’re right good at it, too.”

Winn hummed ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’ as he came in the front door of the shop. The Corpus Christi Caller was spread across Hope’s desk. She looked up and smiled. “You sound chipper. I thought your shoulder would be sore this morning.” “It feels like I ran into a truck last night. Or maybe it was a door with a board nailed on top of it.” Pink tinged her cheeks. “There’s some Absorbine Jr. in the medicine cabinet.” She pointed to the paper. “I found something interesting in the classifieds. The Taft Tribune is for sale.” Winn stepped around the desk. “I wonder if they still have the old Cranston printing press.” He leaned over her to read it. “Hum, failing health—I guess Mr. Patrick is getting on up in years. With that price he won’t have any trouble selling. Wish we could buy it.” He gave her a peck on the temple. “I need to get

started on the circular for Swenson’s.” He walked around the counter. “Good morning, Eddie.” “Good morning, Winston. I’m sorry your s-shoulder hurts. Did you enjoy your dinner with Ace and his wife last night?” “Yes, I did. Sorry you didn’t come with us.” He looked through the ad copy bin for Swenson’s mock-up. “That’s all right. M-mother doesn’t approve of Ace or his family. S-she wouldn’t have liked for me to go with them to eat. Anyway, you know she thinks eating in a restaurant is extravagant.”

In late afternoon, Winn stood on a step-stool fighting the wind while taping the large front window. Hope was beside him fighting her skirt, but she was also ready to block Winn if the wind blew him off the stool. Billy and Marty rode up on their bicycles after finishing their paper routes. She said, “Put your bikes in the shop, so they won’t blow away.” “Okay, Mom,” Billy said. “Leroy at the telegraph office said the hurricane is going to hit somewhere around Corpus.”

After the supper dishes were done, rain began peppering the tin roof. Hope glanced out the kitchen door window, concern filled her features. “Can you boys move Dove’s crib by my bed, please? I don’t want her sleeping close to that window.” Winn set his western magazine on the table. “That’s a good idea, Hope. The boys can make a pallet in here too. I’m going to call Eddie and see if he got Mother’s windows secured and the chairs out of the yard.” Later, with the wind whipping fiercely around the building, Billy and Marty sat on their padded bedding in Hope and Winn’s bedroom nook reading comic books. Ten-month-old Dove was in her crib seemingly enjoying a change of scenery. Billy finished his Captain America comic and looked up at his daddy, “You said you’d tell us more about the circus, Pop.”

Hope, in her gown and long robe, propped her pillow against the headboard and leaned back. “I’d like to hear about it too.” “Okay, that’ll be a good bedtime story in the storm.” He gazed at the ceiling for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I didn’t hear much about that side of the family when I was growing up because Mother thought circus people, gypsies, and stage performers were low life.” Marty raised his head. “Low life? She thinks movie actors are low life?” “Maybe she doesn’t feel the same now, but that was her opinion way back then. I was a young teen when Uncle Foster visited us and told me about Great Uncle Joe.” Billy said, “Was that the Foster I’m named after?” Hope nodded. “Yes, Grandmother Prichard’s brother. I only met him once. It was when he came to Daddy Prichard’s funeral. You were just a baby and I told him you were his namesake, William Foster. Uncle Foster was very proud and said you were a fine looking boy.” “Aw, he should see you now.” Marty walloped Billy with his pillow. “He’d say it again and tell the same to you, Marty,” Hope said. Winn displayed patience for the interruption, and then teased. “May I continue?” Billy nodded. “Sure, Pop, go ahead.” “Uncle Foster and I sat on the porch of our house in Georgia and talked late into the night. I thought he was the most fascinating person I ever met. At that time he was the front man for the circus. He went from town to town setting up the place and times of the shows. He did advance advertising, put up posters, and gave tickets to kids.” The storm gained momentum; rain on the tin roof was loud. Dove whimpered. Hope picked her up and looked at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.” Winn had to speak louder. “The circus was formed by Great Uncle Joe, my grandfather’s brother. It was first called ‘Mexico Joe’s Wild West Show’. Foster

fell in love and married Mexico Joe’s daughter.” The building shook with a big gust of wind and banging clamor. “The wind must’ve caught something.” Hope held Dove close. “It sounds big, like a sign or piece of tin.” Winn hesitated, and then continued his story. “Uncle Joe’s boys …” “Franco, Cisco, and Birdo.” Marty giggled. Winn nodded. “And their sister’s name is Margo.” The boys hooted, Marty fell on the floor, kicking his feet in the air. Hope couldn’t suppress a chuckle. Winn continued, “Well, anyway. Those fellows with the funny names were in Vaudeville for a few years before the wild west show.” “Vaudeville, like on the stage? What kind of act did they do?” “That’s right, Billy, they were on the stage. Birdo, whose middle name is Mandolin by the way, played the guitar and sang. Franco and Cisco were a comedy team.” Billy pointed to Marty. “That’s where you get it.” “It’s in my blood, old chap.” Winn tilted his head. “More directly, you got it from me.” He laughed. “Well, when Uncle Joe started collecting some trained animals and acts, the boys and even Margo ed him and formed the Wild West show. They were pretty big back forty years ago, traveling up and down the east co…” A thunderous bang stopped him. He clamored out of bed, hopped over a pallet and ran to the kitchen door. Raising the shade, he peered outside. With Dove in arms, Hope and the boys hovered around him. Hope said, “What is it?” “It’s too dark to see anything except the tops of the trees blowing every which-away.” The sound clapped, crashed, and clattered. “It sounds like it’s coming from the front.” Like the Keystone Kops, they raced to the large window facing Wood Street. Billy got there first and pulled the taped shade from the side of the window

frame. Rain was coming down hard off the porch. “I can’t tell where that loud noise is coming from, but one side of the sign has fallen down and is swinging around.” Winn listened and looked up. “It’s a piece of tin banging on the roof.” The little group clad in their night clothes looked toward the ceiling as if they could see through it. Just then, the roof began leaking like a sieve all over the building. Hope yelled, “Boys, run, get some buckets, pots, pans, anything.” The noise escalated to a frightful rumbling sound. All four jumped when the telephone rang. Winn hopped on the phone like a pup on a June bug. “I hope Eddie and Mother are all right.” His family shadowed him to the desk. “Hello.” “Winn, this is Rosalie across the street. A large portion of your roof just blew off and it looks like more sheets of tin are loose. I think you and your family need to get over here.” “Rosalie, we can’t get out in this.” “I think you better. I’ve just gotten the news that residents of Matagorda have been evacuated into the school building. The winds are 115 miles an hour there and it’s traveling this way.” Her voice shook. “Your wood building won’t be safe, Winn. Think of the children.” He looked at Hope’s eyes searching his. “All right. Watch for us in a few minutes.” “I’ll have the light on; I don’t think any airplanes are out to get us tonight.” He hung up. “Rosalie wants us to go over there; she thinks we’ll be safer in the brick telephone building. She saw sheets of tin blow off our roof.” Hesitating, Hope looked at the heart wrenching sight of their office supplies getting soaked. Without further talk, she turned toward the back and slipped in a puddle. Winn caught her and Dove in his arms. She took a deep breath. Winn lamented over newsprint sitting in a lake of water, but snapped back to the urgent situation and turned to the boys. “Never mind about the buckets, it’s beyond rescue. Get on your clothes—fast.”

Hope laid Dove in the crib and quickly packed a bag with diapers and bottles. She grabbed the dress she had tossed on the chair earlier and squirmed out of her gown and into the dress. She got out their coats from the back of the chifforobe. With Dove wrapped securely in a small quilt, Hope was ready to face the storm. Winn and the boys were dressed in a flash. As they made their way to the front of the shop, rain cascaded upon them as if they standing under a waterfall. Yelling over the fierceness of the storm, Winn began shouting directions. “Okay, now listen. I’ll hold Dove, and you boys hold our hands. If there’s a sudden squall, we’ll squat down, but whatever you do, don’t let go!” Envisioning them blowing away in swirls of wind, separated in opposite directions, Hope’s adrenaline level was high. “Wait, I want to pray!” They made a pathetic picture—coats wet, huddled together, yet acknowledging the One who held their safekeeping in His hands. Her voice was edged with nervousness as she began. “Lord God, Your strength and power are mighty. You control the storm and I have faith You will hold Your hand over us as we cross the street in safety. In the name of Jesus, I pray.” Her hand shook as it clutched the strap of Dove’s bag on her shoulder. “Do you have a good hold on Dove, Winn?” “I’ve got her inside my coat. Let’s wait until after a big gust.” A huge rumble sounded overhead, and the old wooden building quaked in the darkness. He opened the door and held Dove even tighter to his chest. “Let’s go!” He shouted. “Can you close the door, Billy?” “I’ll try.” Even with torrents of rain and wind pounding his face, Billy put up a brave front. But closing the door was futile against the rising waters already surging throughout the building. Winn looked across the street and barely saw Rosalie’s silhouette through the telephone office front window. “Come on!” He hollered. The incredible force of the wind raged against them. The noise of flying objects pierced the air dangerously close overhead. He tucked his chin protectively over Dove’s head, leaving her only a small opening in which to breathe. Hope held fast to Billy, who held on to Marty, who clutched his daddy’s tight fist. Hope’s mind clouded with devastating possibilities. And Dear God, don’t let anything hit us. As they reached the center of the street, a tremendous wind

engulfed them. Winn squatted while pulling Marty’s hand. Like dominoes, they went to their knees, holding on to each other with heads bowed together. At the exact instant they were pummeled by the ferocious blast, there came from behind them a crash so shocking, they all turned toward it from their crouched positions. Shielding their eyes from wind and debris, they watched in numb horror as The Woodsboro News building collapsed. Tin skittered into the night sky like kites on a March day; splinters of wood like matchsticks chased after them. A scream clawed at Hope’s throat. The boys cried out. Winn held his breath and watched helplessly as everything they had worked so hard for blow away. Their paper dream evolved into a horrific nightmare right before their eyes. This was stark reality, not a nightmare. Grit covered their faces, driving rain pierced their skin, and the wind was a barrier to the brick building. The overwhelming desire to protect his family pushed Winn into extreme survival mode and drove him to his feet. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he yanked Marty and the others to their feet, and pulled them to safety. Rosalie stood and cried at the open door of the haven she had offered. Inside, Hope desperately reached for Dove. In her snug quarters, Rosalie had already made a pallet for the boys, but they were too wound up to sleep. Dove seemed to be ready to have a nap after the adventure she would not . The telephone operator made coffee and sat at her table with the Prichard family. Downed electric lines left them only with candlelight. The mood was solemn with talk of how bad the storm was, how they watched their home and livelihood disintegrate, and what might be salvaged. Marty regained his humor. “Man alive, I’ll never forget this night. I thought we were going to get carried away in the wind like Dorothy and Toto in the Wizard of Oz.” Billy looked out the window into darkness. “Do you think the linotype is okay, Pop?” “We’ll have to wait and see, Son.” Dawn was long in coming. The storm finally ed and winds were reduced to mere whimpering gusts. Revealing the destruction left in its wake, the morning light also brought many of the townspeople to the pile of rubble that had once

been the building which housed their local newspaper and the Prichard family. Cautiously creeping through the mass of tangled lumber, they called out for them. Marty was the first to run out of the telephone building. “We’re okay and I still have my quarter.” He proudly reached into his pocket and held up the coin Ace had given him. Rosalie said, “Hope, you go with Winn to see the damage. I’ll watch Dove.” Hope gave her a hug. “I’m so grateful, Rosalie. If you hadn’t called we might have been killed.” Winn and the boys stepped over water logged wood, surveying what was left of their belongings. “Be careful,” said Winn. “Watch out for nails and glass.” Hope stood at the edge of what used to be their porch. Oh God, give me strength to bare this. A husky arm went around Hope’s shoulder, and she turned to see Sophie standing next to her. “I’ll help you, Honey, you’re not alone. Folks are out and about this morning to lend a hand.” Winn looked back at Hope standing with Sophie and walked toward them. “Hope, this is pretty bad and it’s going to take some time to get it cleaned up and see what we can save. But right now, I’ve got to see how Mother and Eddie are.” “Of course, Winn,” Hope said. “You go ahead. I pray they’re all right.” Trees were down all across town, some old outhouses and sheds were blown to who knows where. Winn saw a car on its side and a few broken windows on Main Street. People were out in force, picking up what they could. He saw Priscilla at her kitchen door, sweeping water out of her house. Winn quickly approached her. “Thank God you’re all right, Mother. Where’s Eddie?” She stilled her broom and glared with piercing eyes. “Well, we could have been swept away with the storm for all you knew.” “I got here as soon as I could, Mother. Our roof blew away and the building fell in. We got to the building across the street just in time. I don’t know what is

salvageable yet. I wanted to see how you and Eddie made it before I start digging through our mess.” Eddie stood behind his mother. “Oh no, I’ll go help you.” Priscilla twisted around, hitting Eddie in the chest with the broom handle as she turned. “You’ll help me first and you too, Winston. My rugs are soaked, they need to be taken outside to dry. You also need to call someone to fix the leaks in the roof.” Winn hung his head with disgust and stepped past her. “Come on, Eddie; let’s get those precious rugs outside. No matter that we have nothing left. I don’t even know where we’ll sleep tonight.” “B-but you can stay with us, Winston.” Priscilla said, “This is my house, shouldn’t I be consulted first?” Hearing Winn’s exasperated sigh, she added, “Well I should.” Winn faced her with a scowl. Eddie said, “M-mother, the boys and Dove don’t have a roof over their head. It’s not Christian not to share w-what the Lord has given us.” A sprig of hair dared to break free from her bun. She nervously returned it to its rightful place. “I didn’t say they couldn’t stay here, Edward. I merely wished to make that decision myself, if you don’t mind.” Winn stalked through the house to see her damage. Eddie followed him. “I set out p-pots to catch the water from the ceiling last night, but the blowing rain seeped under the doors.” Winn nodded. With great effort they drug their mother’s bedroom oval braided rug to the back yard. It was too heavy for the clothes line; they hung it across one of the poles. The Adirondack chairs were retrieved from the shed, the living room rug was draped over them. Winn said to Eddie, “That’s a heap of work on an empty stomach. Let’s go see what Hope and the kids are doing and find something for breakfast.” Eddie hesitated at the front steps. “I-I better not, Winston. Mother may need me.”

“I need you—she’s fine.” He walked across the yard. A moment later, he felt Eddie by his side.

Our relationship with God is revealed during storms, prevailing pain, sorrows, and life’s interruptions.

15

T he townspeople of Woodsboro again demonstrated their comion for the Prichard family as they did when Mary Jane died. Donations for the baby’s funeral were anonymous then. But this time, when the storm was over and the sky cleared, folks showed up to physically help. Timbers and boards, ones the hurricane hadn’t carry away, were a jigsaw puzzle pile on top of the newspaper shop and home. August heat intensified the humidity hanging in the air like wet laundry all around them. It seemed the sun wanted to make up for the hurricane winds blocking its rays the day before. Eddie said, “I don’t know if I’m dripping with perspiration or humidity.” Marty said, “They’re both wet, but sweat stinks.” Billy laughed. “If Grandmother heard you, she’d give you her pinched nose look and say you’re crude.” The vacant lot was strewn with tree limbs, pieces of the building, and all manner of debris. It was a surprise to see Jimmy and Bubba making their way over the devastation. “Can we help, Mr. Prichard?” Winn wiped the sweat from the side of his face with a swipe of his short sleeve. “Okay, but be careful of nails and splinters.” He noticed they were wearing sneakers, which they rarely did in summer months. “Stay where you are. We’ll throw trash over there. If it’s not too heavy, drag it to a pile by the street.” He pointed to a spot away from the cement blocks which once held the building. Jimmy said, “If you can throw it, we can drag it.” Marty made his way to them. “Boy, you shoulda seen us. We just stepped out of the building and like the hero in a movie where he barely gets away before something explodes behind him, everything crashed. It sure was exciting!” Hope pulled out a piece of Dove’s crib from the rubble. “I could do without that

kind of excitement.” Sam, Roger, and Mr. Sanders loaded Sophie’s side board truck with unsalvageable material to be taken to the dump. Dove stayed with Rosalie while Lenora Parks helped Hope go through what remained of the household. Moselle Hopkins brought her laundry cart to gather clothes to take to her wash shed. In the hub of activity, Marty kept a water jug full from the telephone building outside faucet. Rosalie provided glasses and cups for the workers. By mid-morning, most of the roof timbers and wood had been cleared away from the machinery. Billy and Winn inspected the linotype. “Do you think it’ll still work, Pop?” Winn picked remaining wood pieces from the melting pot. “I think so, but I’ll have to break it down and oil it against rust.” He looked at the job press. “That doesn’t have as many parts as the linotype, so it won’t be as difficult. First we have to get a roof over our head.” Standing in puddled water by the type case, Billy pulled out a drawer. “All the metal type and wood fonts are wet. I can dry and oil the type.” A noticeable spark of pride creased Winn’s lips. “Okay, but we can’t do anything until we relocate. The drawers have to be completely dry before we put the type back in. Don’t worry about it now, Son.” Hope had a prayer on her lips as she discovered heartbreaking losses. Their framed wedding picture was ruined. She had one pair of good shoes, one was located, the other one could be in the next county. The kitchen cabinets were in a pile, most of the dishes were broken. The delicate plate from Japan that Priscilla didn’t want was intact, however, still wrapped in paper, now soaked inside a drawer. Hope’s back ached; her cotton work dress clung to her with sweat. She stretched and looked around at the people working to help them, showing their . Thank you, Jesus. But troubling thoughts of challenges ahead plagued her. What are we going to do? How will we live—where we live? Pastor Goodman and his wife parked on Wood Street and got out. It was the first time Hope saw them in work clothes. “I’m making rounds, Winn. Glad to see you have some help. I heard some of the places on Farm to Market 136 are in bad shape. We’re heading out there, but I’ll check with you later. We’ve been praying for you.”

Riley’s Drug Store and Swenson’s Market survived with only minor damage. Around noon, Mrs. Riley brought sandwiches and Mrs. Swenson sent over a basket of fruit. Winn and Hope sat on cement blocks to eat a sandwich. Mrs. Hornsby brought lemonade for them. The youngsters gulped the food and went back in the rubble to look for belongings. Bubba found Billy’s catcher’s mitt and stuck his hand in. “Yuck, it’s wet.” Marty found the ball and tossed it to Bubba. The boys began a game of pitch in the road which had been cleared of branches and limbs. Hope said, “How do they have the energy?” Winn, now in his undershirt, said, “Youth—they carry on in spite of catastrophe. Billy is mature enough to realize the situation, but I think he’s trying to hide what’s really going on inside his head.” “So am I, Winn.” Her eyes swept the destruction, fatigue oozed from every pore. “I’m trying to take one step at a time. What are we going to do tonight?” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Eddie said we can stay at Mother’s.” An ocean of turbulence rushed through her veins envisioning what that would be like. Wearily she stood. “Rosalie said Dove hasn’t been any trouble. I just checked on her.” Hope walked toward the debris. “I hope Moselle is able to bring some of our clothes later.” Mrs. Upton stopped by in her custom made car which enabled her small frame to reach the pedals. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror of the spectacle. Winn met the car and leaned toward her, putting a hand on the open window. “Hello, Mrs. Upton. Sorry I can’t invite you in. Hope usually keeps better house than this.” Tears welled in the edges of her eyes. “Oh, Winn, you even maintain your good humor in a situation like this.” She patted his hand. Hope walked to greet her. “Did you have any damage, Mrs. Upton?” “Just a few trees down and some slates off the roof. Oh, my dears, this is devastating. Do you know yet what you’re going to do?”

Winn straightened. “Not exactly. We may go to my mother’s until we can figure out where to move the plant. I better see what else can be done; it was nice of you to come by.” Mrs. Upton nodded. “Hope, I want you to go to Carter’s Dry Goods and get essentials for you and your family.” “Oh no, Mrs. Upton. That’s very kind, but we can’t accept. Moselle Hopkins came this morning for our clothes. She’ll probably have them like new directly.” Her smile was sincere. “Did the Carters come through okay? Their store wasn’t damaged?” “They were prepared. They stayed there all night and covered their merchandise with tarps. As it turned out, they only had a few leaks, thank the good Lord. But you and your family—oh my goodness. I do want to help. Please, Hope, if there is anything you need, get it from Carter’s and charge it to my .” She tilted her head. “Will you do that?” To appease her, Hope nodded and smiled as the car slowly rolled on to Wood Street. Hope turned to see Winn talking to Ward and Sadie Warren. She gingerly walked to where they were standing. Winn said, “Hope, the Warren’s are insisting we stay at the hotel for a few days.” She softly gasped. Ward stepped closer to her. “Hope, we don’t expect any guests after this hurricane. We have two empty ading rooms. It would be a shame for you and your family not to use them.” She looked at Sadie who nodded and gave an assuring smile. Hope looked at Winn. He said, “Sugar, we all need a bath and a good night’s sleep. I say we take them up on their offer, for tonight anyway.” Too drained to protest, Hope felt a small portion of the huge weight on her shoulders lifted. “You’re very kind; yes we would be most grateful.” Moselle brought back a cart of clean clothes in late afternoon. “I’m glad the sun is shining. I have what I thought you might need for tonight and tomorrow. I’ll wash the rest later. Have you found any more?”

Hope thanked her and nodded. “There’s a wet pile over there.” She pointed to the edge of the rubble. “I’ll pay you for doing this, it must’ve been hard to get these back to us so soon. I don’t know when we’ll get the paper started again to run your ad.” “No, Hope, I don’t want payment.” Moselle was stooped shouldered from years of bending over her wringer wash tub. Her eyes surveyed the area. “This is a terrible thing. I’ve been praying for you today as I washed your clothes.” “You’re a wonderful Christian woman, Moselle. God bless you.” Before the last minutes of daylight completely ebbed away, and after their helpers had said their good-byes and made their way back to their own homes, the Prichard family took a walk around and surveyed what was left of their shop and home. Marty finally broke the silence. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about the blackout. We have no lights and no phone, all we got is just wide open spaces.”

Those who care for you are there for you.

16

T he electricity came back on early Monday morning. Hope was thankful Moselle had washed underwear, socks, shirts and pants for the entire family and a dress for her. Winn went to the phone company to put in a call to the Taft Tribune. “Mr. Patrick, this is Winston Prichard over in Woodsboro.” A roaring noise came from Patrick’s end. “Well, hello, Winn, I’ve been hearing about your fine paper.” The old man shouted in the phone. “Did you make it through the storm all right?” “We’re okay, but our building was blown away. I think I can clean up the equipment, but most everything in our living quarters in back of the shop was lost. Was there much damage at your place?” Mr. Patrick groaned. “Sorry to hear it. We faired okay at home, but a tree fell on the printing office. I got some men over here now cutting up the tree.” Winn had difficulty hearing him. “I hope things aren’t too bad.” “What’d you say?” “I said …” The noise was louder. Winn leaned an elbow on the counter. “I said I hope there’s not too much damage. Look, Mr. Patrick, I’m going to hop on the ten o’clock bus, I’d like to talk to you.” Rosalie gave him a curious look.

After the call, Hope and the children met him for breakfast at a corner table in Mac’s. The diner had dodged the storm and his griddle stayed hot serving extra customers who had damage to their kitchens. Marty carried on a conversation of sorts with the myna bird. But Jack tired of holding up his end of the dialogue. When Mac set pancakes and sausage on the table, Marty hopped back to his

chair. After Hope’s prayer, Billy said, “Our bikes look like a pile of twisted metal. What are we going to do about our paper routes?” Marty’s eyes widened, he quickly swallowed a mouthful of milk. “I didn’t think of that. Mom, do you have our savings?” “Yes, the tin can was in my night stand. Boards had fallen across it and Sophie helped me lift them off. The nightstand was smashed, but I managed to get the can. Your money is safe.” Billy said, “So, do we have enough for new bikes.” Marty poured more syrup on his pancakes. “Shoot, I was saving for a car.” Winn chuckled. “It’s a long way off before you can drive a car, Marty. Until we can find bikes, I guess you’ll have to walk your routes.” “Walk?” Marty was stricken. “Sufferin’ succotash, that would be too much work. I’m gonna see if Jimmy will loan me his bike.” A few more bites and he finished his food. “Come on, Billy; let’s go see if we can borrow some bikes.” Hope gave Dove a spoonful of oatmeal. “Don’t be too long. We may need your help at home.” The boys nodded and headed out of the diner with a farewell whistle from Jack. Hope said, “Home—what’s left of it.” She let her head drop into her hand, but quickly straightened and looked around. Her moment of despair escaped outsiders’ eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What are we going to do, Winn?” He took her hand. “I’m taking the bus to Taft and talk to George Patrick about buying the Taft paper, Sugar.” “You think you can buy it on your good looks?” She let Dove have the spoon to scoop the last of the cereal. “You know how little we have in the bank. We’re starting completely over.” Hope leaned back and sighed. “Okay, things are bad, but look what God has done every time we’ve come to a fork in the road. I’ll be praying you can make some kind of deal with Mr. Patrick.”

Most of the tree had been cleared away in the Taft printing office. Winn stood

with Mr. Patrick surveying damage to his wooden building. The elderly man leaned heavily on his cane. “Looks pretty bad, Winn.” “It’s the front office mostly. Your linotype and press look okay.” Winn stepped over a pile of wood to take a closer look. “You stay there, George, I don’t want you to fall.” He walked around the machinery, stopping here and there to stoop and look underneath. Making his way back, he said, “It’s hard to believe that old Cranston is still working.” “Yep, she cranks up every press day and spits out the Tribune just like she did back in ’21 when you worked on the first issue.” Winn shook his head. “It’s amazing what a hurricane can do. I couldn’t believe it when Mr. Clark and I were told a hurricane had picked up a press from that little building on the Taft Ranch and threw it in a field two miles away.” Patrick turned toward his car. “These old legs give out easily, Winn. Let’s go over to the café and have some lunch.” Seated at an oil cloth covered table, they ordered the Blue Plate special; meatloaf, mashed potatoes, lima beans and a cornbread muffin. George stretched his legs and sighed. “You know, Winn, that story of digging the press out of a cotton patch has become a legend in the newspaper business all around Texas.” Winn laughed. “Twenty years ago, when Mr. Clark hired me to help him start a newspaper here, I didn’t know it meant rescuing that old Cranston. Didn’t give a thought to how many years was left in her. When we got it up and running, Clark couldn’t pay me much, so I moved on. When did you buy the paper?” “I happened to come along twelve years ago when Clark was ready to sell. I got it for a song. It was slow going at first, but with the expansion of the cotton gin, Taft had a real growth spurt.” Patrick’s voice held a mingling of regret and weariness. The milky film of old age covered his eyes. “It’s a nice little town and a good paper, but this old body won’t allow me to keep working.” A cigarette burn in the oil cloth held Winn’s interest for a moment. He nodded with understanding. “I’ll be honest with you, George. We were struggling to keep the Woodsboro News going with our head barely above water.” He gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Humph, barely above water, now the water and wind of a hurricane is the last straw. We have no savings, but I have to find a place right

away to start up again and a place for my family to live. We have two boys and a baby girl.” “I read about the birth of your little girl. I read your paper cover to cover, Winn. You and your wife are a good team.” “Thanks. I know you’re a subscriber, and pleased to find out you actually read it.” The waitress brought their food and filled their water glasses. Winn went on after a nod of thanks to her. “I might be able to get a loan at the Farmers and Merchants Bank in Woodsboro. Is there a possibility you can come down on your d price?” Patrick played with his fork. “I was asking five thousand before the tree fell on the building. I don’t think the type case and job press can be saved. You think the linotype and Cranston looks all right?” Winn nodded. “Yes, but you’re right about the little press, the tree fell directly on it and it crushed the type case, also.” “I saw type in the branches of the tree the men hauled away this morning. The rest is scattered to kingdom come.” Patrick shifted in his chair. “I was renting the building; the owner will have to deal with that. You’ll have the expense of moving that old rascal press again. How’s four thousand sound to you.” “It sounds like a heap of money, George. Your original investment wasn’t much. I know you’ve built it up, what’s your circulation?” “Three hundred and eighty-eight paid subscribers and usually about twenty are sold at the shop and the drug store.” Winn pushed his empty plate aside and leaned back. “Four thousand is about a hundred dollars for each subscriber, George.” “You have to take into consideration the printing press and linotype, plus I have regular rs.” “There’s no way I want to offer you less than what the Tribune is worth, and I know we both want to be fair. The machinery will have to be taken apart, oiled, and cleaned to prevent rust. That’s going to take precious time before production.” Hesitating, Winn’s expression was that of a man drowning in a

whirlpool of overpowering circumstances. With new resolve, he looked directly into George’s eyes. “If I can get a loan for thirty-five hundred, will that work for you?” Patrick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His contemplation pulsed for almost a minute. “I live with my daughter and her husband here in town. They don’t charge rent and she fixes all my meals except when I come over here for breakfast. I think I can make do with that, Winn. Especially knowing you’ll continue giving the folks here a good publication.” They sealed the agreement with a handshake and Mr. Patrick dropped Winn off at the bus station. Upon arriving back in Woodsboro, and before seeing Hope, Winn went directly from the depot to the bank.

My daddy adhered to the old days when a man’s word was his bond, and a handshake was as good as a signature on the dotted line of a contract.

17

H ope gave Dove a parting kiss. “You’re so kind to keep her, Rosalie. How can I pay you?” “You pay me every day, Hope. When I see the faith you’ve shown ever since I’ve known you, going through one tough time after another …well you’ve been a wonderful example to me.” She smiled at Dove. “And I’m experiencing motherhood for a little while with this precious doll.” A line on the switchboard lit up and Rosalie placed Dove on a quilt beside it. “You tend to everything you need to do, Hope. Dove and I will be fine.” Outside, Hope saw Eddie standing beside the pile of devastation. His stooped shoulders slumped even more. He appeared as lost as a three-year-old looking for his mother. The pain of loss gripped her insides again. A demolition ball from the sky had flattened her livelihood and home as well as her hopes for their future. Bracing herself, she soldiered across the street to greet Eddie and went right to her point. “Eddie, I have an errand for you.” His face perked up. “Okay, Hope, what is it?” “I want you to ask around for some small boxes or tins we can keep the type separated in while the drawers dry out. Maybe some stores, like Carter’s will have some they’re going to throw away. Can you do that?” “Sure I can. I’ll be happy to.” He turned, and then hurried back. “Mother said to tell you s-she wants you to come stay with us.” Smiling, he rushed away, obviously overjoyed to have an assignment. She sighed and whispered another prayer. Dear God, show us what to do. If it’s Your will for us to buy the Taft paper, make a way for us to do it. Thank You for everyone who is helping us. For the rooms the Warrens’ provided, and Rosalie for keeping Dove. Give us wisdom. Give us strength, especially if we stay with Mother Prichard. She stepped over small debris, nails, and glass to pull out a type case drawer. Running her hand underneath, she felt the dampness and shoved it back in the cabinet.

The men had been able to remove timbers the day before from where her bedroom used to be. Something sticking out from under the smashed headboard caught her eye. With great effort, she shoved the headboard aside and knelt to get a better look. It was the small sewing kit Winn had given her their first Christmas. It was flattened. The scissors were okay and the lid with the image of a needle and spool of thread was all right. I could frame this. Oh, no, my sewing machine. Where is my sewing machine? She stood and frantically looked about, turning in a circle. “Whatcha doing, Mom?” Billy rode up on Cornelius’ bike. Marty was peddling on Wood Street from the other direction. “I’m hoping to find a trace of my sewing machine.” Billy propped the bike on its stand. “I saw the wheel somewhere yesterday. I think some parts were in the metal pile that Miss Sophie took.” Seeing the downhearted expression on her face, he said, “Sorry, Mom.” She put an arm around his shoulders. “Well, Billy, every time I think of something we’ve lost, I thank the Lord all of us are unharmed.” Marty hollered, “Come on, Billy, let’s go get our papers. Jimmy wants his bike back right after we finish.” For an hour or so, Hope continued to gather small objects, making a pile of salvageable household goods and personal items. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she spied Eddie walking fast toward her carrying a large box. “Hope, I-I got some excellent boxes from the hardware store. They had a shipment of all sizes of nails and were emptying them into the bins when I got there.” He set the cardboard box at her feet. “They were going to throw these away.” “Eddie, these are perfect containers. That was great timing.” “Sure was. I’ll start f-filling them with the metal type. There are larger boxes on the bottom for the wooden fonts.” “Thank you, Eddie. You’re a great help.” He gave her that bashful smile he always got when complimented. She returned the smile. “I’m going to check on Dove, I’ll be right back.”

Eddie concentrated so intently on his task, at first he didn’t see Winn walk up beside him. “Hey, that’s a good idea, Eddie.” “Oh, it wasn’t my idea. Hope asked me to find s-some small containers and I found these at the hardware store.” Curiosity wrinkled his forehead. “Where have you been, Winston?” “Let me tell Hope first, where is she?” Hope crossed the street and hurried her pace when she saw Winn. “Hi, Winn— find out anything?” “I sure could use some coffee, how about we get a cup over at Mac’s and I’ll fill you in. Can we bring something back for you, Eddie?” “No, t-thank you.” He hung his head with a dejected expression. Winn placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I need to talk to Hope right now, but we’ll visit later, okay?” Eddie gave him a good natured smile. “Of course. W-what time will you be at Mother’s for supper?” Hope answered the question circling Winn’s face. “She’s invited us to stay with her until we find a place.” Winn said, “Is that right? Well, I think we’re too tired to move our things tonight. But…” he looked at his watch. “…we can eat around six.” As an afterthought, he added, “Tell her we appreciate the offer.”

As they walked to Mac’s, Hope said, “Telling Eddie we’re too tired to move our things tonight was just an excuse wasn’t it?” “Right. And I’ll say the same thing until we move to Taft.” She stopped short and grabbed his arm. “So, we can buy the paper?” He pulled her to him and kissed her on the cheek with an air of satisfaction.

“Sure can.” Winn gave Hope a run down on all that had transpired since breakfast. “Mr. Patrick agreed to sell the paper for thirty-five hundred dollars. The linotype and Cranston look fine, I’m not sure about the job press, but the type cases are ruined. The file cabinet with subscribers’ names and past rs had some water seepage, but I think we can make out the information.” They sat at a corner table in Mac’s where the afternoon waitress filled their order for coffee. “Thanks, Lois. I think I’d like a piece of that apple pie. How about you, Hope?” Hope smiled at Lois. “Just coffee.” Her eyes went back to Winn. “So did Mr. Patrick think your good looks are worth all that money?” “He failed to mention my good looks, but Eugene Upton at the bank thought my word was good enough to give me a loan for the full amount plus a couple hundred for the move.” The table wobbled as Hope leaned forward with surprise. Lois brought the pie and steadied the table. “This old thing had a wad of paper under one of the legs. Let me see if I can find it.” Winn folded a napkin. “Don’t bother, Lois, this might work.” He leaned over, found the short leg, and stuffed the napkin under it. “Good as new.” Lois breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to a customer waiting at the counter. Hope said, “Winn, if you’re teasing me, I’ll kick you right here in this diner.” He raised his palm as swearing an oath. “Would I tease you about a thing like that? Eugene was either in a very good mood, or sympathetic to our situation— and I don’t think it was sympathy. Hard to believe, but he had his secretary draw up the papers while I waited.” “My word, I’ve noticed he has been in a good mood since he became engaged to Lenora Parks.” “Like you said, a man becomes better with a good woman.” She gazed at him over her coffee cup. “Humm, you ed.” They laughed. “Did you have a chance to see if there’s an empty building in Taft?”

“No, I figured I’d tend to one thing at a time and buying the paper was foremost in my mind.” He drained his cup and stood to pay the check. “Thanks, Lois, the pie was mighty good.” He opened the door for Hope. She put her arm around him as they walked. “I’m going to pick up Dove, I’m sure Rosalie can use a break.” As they neared the ruins, they saw Eddie talking to Sam Benson. Hope went to the phone company and Winn hurried ahead. “Hello, Sam. Thanks again for your help.” Benson shook Winn’s hand. “Glad to do what I could, sure hate this happened to your family and your paper. My insurance company agent from Corpus is going to meet me here at four to survey the damage. I usually give estimates myself, but since it’s my property, the main office is sending out their man.” “I hope it won’t be too much of a loss for you, Sam.” “Lots of folks were hit hard, but I think yours is the worst. What are you going to do?” “Not sure yet.” Eddie closed the bottom drawer. “I’ve f-finished, Winn, but I think I’ll wait to set out the drawers to dry when the sun comes up tomorrow m-morning. I need to see how M-mother is doing.” He set the last container in the large box he brought them in. “N-nice seeing you, Mr. Benson.”

Dove’s chubby arms reached toward Hope as she stooped to pick her up. “Thank you, again, Rosalie.” “She’s such a good baby, no trouble at all, Hope.” “I’m going to Carter’s before they close and get a play pen for her.” Hope hugged Dove. “I’ll put it close to me while I work tomorrow.” Rosalie answered a call on the switchboard. “Mr. Prichard? Yes I can get a message to him, but his wife is right here if you would like to speak with her.”

She handed the headset to Hope and took Dove in her arms. Puzzled, Hope said, “Hello?” “Mrs. Prichard, this is George Patrick over in Taft. I want to on some information to Winn about a building in a good location. It’s been vacant for a while.” “Yes, Mr. Patrick, we would be interested if the price is right. Do you think we could see it tomorrow morning?” “I’ll call the owner and set it up. If you can be on the ten o’clock bus, I’ll be at the depot to pick you up. Just call me back if you can’t make it then.” “That’ll be fine, Mr. Patrick and thank you for calling.”

Thelma made pot pies for all of them before she went home for the day. Priscilla poked her fork around in her plate. “She put in too many peas.” “Maybe she was making up for the lack of chicken.” Winn sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Well, I have an announcement to make. Hope and I have bought the Taft Tribune.” The table buzzed with Billy’s and Marty’s questions. Winn didn’t have all the answers, but gave the information he had. Eddie was solemn. After the boys’ inquiries, he said, “M-mother and I won’t get to see you very often.” Priscilla smirked. “Perhaps that’s what they want, Edward.” Hope said, “It most certainly is not, Mother Prichard. Taft is less than twentyfive miles away, a short bus ride.” Winn frowned. “Look, Mother, you should see what used to be our building, then you’d understand what we’re dealing with.” He leaned on the table. “We can’t print the paper here anymore. We don’t have a place to live. I was able to make a deal on the purchase of a good paper in a larger town. Can’t you see the logic of trying to better circumstances for our family?”

Lines around Eddie’s sad eyes deepened. “Of course, you h-have to do what’s best for your children. They come first.” “In my day, honoring parents came before children.” Priscilla fidgeted with her napkin. “I’m old, what is to become of me while you are living in another city. What if I need you in a hurry, Winston? Have you thought of that?” Winn reached out and covered her nervous hands with his. “Mother, we have no intention of being far from you any longer than necessary. Let us work out everything for the business and housing, and then we can think about moving you and Eddie to Taft.” Billy and Marty exchanged looks. Winn explained to his mother and Eddie about the rooms at the Warren Hotel. “When we relocate, we’re going to do some printing for the hotel in exchange for the rooms.” Priscilla sniffed her disapproval and looked away. Eddie’s bottom lip pushed forward like a disappointed child, but he immediately recovered with a weak smile. “I’ll be praying for you.” Hope said, “Thank you, Eddie. We certainly need God’s help. There are so many uphill roads ahead of us. We’re in limbo right now, but we have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

We can’t make sense of tragedy, but we can overcome its effects if we move forward.

18

W inn and Hope with Dove, stood with Mr. Patrick on the sidewalk in front of a two-story building, taking it all in. The building faced Green Street which was the main thoroughfare of Taft. It was situated half way between the business district and the high school where the street dead ended. While waiting for the owner, they took in the façade of peeling white paint. Large windows on each side met the inset door entrance. Mexican tile across the rooftop gave it a distinct style. Hope liked it immediately, but feared the rent would be out of their slim pocketbook range. Mr. Patrick said, “Actually, I was thinking about moving here a few months ago. But I knew selling the paper was imminent.” He glanced toward the busy area of town. “Ah, here he comes. I don’t think I mentioned, he’s the bank president.” A portly man approached hurriedly. “Sorry to keep you waiting, I got tied up at the bank.” He stuck out his hand. “Franklin Brooks is the name.” Introductions were made as they entered the building. The floors were cement across a large expanse. An enclosed stairway was halfway back with a bathroom beneath the stairs. Hope wanted to see the second story. Winn said, “Let me hold Dove. I’ll go up in a minute.” He walked through the building with the owner. “How much rent are you asking, Mr. Brooks?” Franklin wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “I want to lease it, a one year lease will be eighty-five a month, if you agree to a five year lease, I’ll make it seventy.” Facing them, Mr. Patrick sat on the display platform of one of the front windows. Winn looked up at the tall ceiling scattered with florescent lights and twisted an old switch to discover the electricity was off. In the bathroom, he tested the faucet in the sink and flushed the toilet. It had a leak, a rusty ring in the bowl, and a loose seat. Hope came down the stairs filled with wishful possibilities. Winn said, “How

does the upstairs look?” “I’ll hold Dove, if you want to go up.” He took the steps two at a time and entered a large room with a double window looking onto a corner vacant lot. There were two other good size rooms and a bathroom which appeared seldom used. Shading the back of the building, a chinaberry tree was right outside the bathroom window. It stood next to a dirt alleyway. Downstairs, Mr. Brooks inspected the toilet. Hope talked with Mr. Patrick about the Tribune until Winn came down and approached Brooks. “I assume George told you we’re purchasing the Tribune and if we decide on this building, there will be a problem moving in the press. The way the large windows are slanted in toward the doors in front, it couldn’t fit that way. We would have to knock out a portion of the back wall to expand that door in order for us to move it in.” Franklin sputtered. “Well…ah, that wouldn’t be up to me. I won’t pay for that kind of construction.” Winn took a confident stance. “We plan on making Taft our home and will agree to sixty a month with a five year lease.” Franklin seemed outraged. “That’s highway robbery for this building.” Hope stood beside Winn. “Mr. Brooks, I understand it’s been vacant for quite some time while you continue to pay the taxes.” Her logic was spoken with a soft voice. “I don’t know what other type of business in Taft could utilize this much space.” Dove rubbed her eyes. Hope gently pushed wisps of the baby’s hair away from her face. Mr. Patrick leaned on his cane and stood. “She’s right, Franklin. Since the tool company expanded and moved to Corpus, it’s just been sitting here. Sixty a month is better than nothing. I know Winn; in fact he worked on the first issues of the Tribune years ago and publishes a fine paper. The only reason they’re moving from Woodsboro, where they printed the paper for well over ten years, is because that infernal hurricane collapsed their building.” The three of them studied Franklin, waiting for his response. “Well, I…I uh, if you plan on establishing a permanent business. I won’t take less than sixty-five.”

He wiped his face again. “I’d put in the lease that you’ll pay for the construction of the back door.” His voice escalated with the warning. Winn nodded. “Agreed and we’d expect reasonable upkeep of the building. The toilet downstairs needs a new seat and a plumber. If there are burnt out fluorescents, they need to be replaced, also.” Franklin’s eyes swept the ceiling and its numerous hanging lights. His stocky stature shifted from one foot to the other. “If there’s a problem with the electrical, I’ll fix it, but the bulbs are up to you.” “Fair enough.” Winn stuck out his hand. Mr. Brooks obliged with a handshake. “We can go to my office and draw up the lease.”

The boys stayed with Cornelius most of the day and made their paper routes on borrowed bikes again. Hope’s words tumbled with excitement as she told Billy and Marty about Taft and the building. Billy sat on the edge of his seat at the Warren Hotel restaurant where they were eating supper. “Do you think we can move before school starts next week?” Winn swallowed a bite of Mrs. Warren’s beef stew. Its broth was thick, but there were more potatoes and carrots than beef. “We’re going to have to camp out for a while in the upstairs before we can get much furniture, but we need to get started as soon as we can.” Dove sat on Hope’s lap as she was being fed. Hope wiped a dribble from the baby’s chin. “I’ve camped out before, but this won’t be as bad as West Texas. At least we’ll have an indoor bathroom.” Curiosity filled Billy’s eyes. “Y’all camped out in the wild west?” “Nothing surprises me anymore.” Marty stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth. “Another tale for another time.” Winn drained his water glass. “I need to get in touch with Floyd to see when he’ll be able to move the equipment and type

cases.” “I think the cases are almost dry, Eddie and I can put the type in tomorrow.” “No, Hope, let’s leave it in the box for the move. That’ll prevent any mishaps with spilled type.” Winn looked at Billy. “Well, Son, tomorrow I’m giving you a lesson in breaking down the linotype.” Excitement burst through Billy’s features. His daddy went on “We’ll take most of it apart, so we can reach inside and oil the innards. The pieces we take off, we’ll oil and pack in boxes. That way, we won’t have to struggle to move it in the new shop. You can put it back together there.” “Me? But, Pop.” The scared tremble in his voice faded when he grasped Winn’s tease. Marty laughed. “Ha, he gotcha, Billy.” With narrowed eyes, Billy looked at his brother. “So what are you going to do while everybody else is working?” “Oh, don’t you worry about me. I can find lots of things to do.” “Yeah, like going to play baseball with the guys.” Marty said, “I can show Jimmy and Corny our paper routes. They asked if they could take them over if we move.” Hope intervened. “You can do that later, Marty. I’ll have some chores your hands will fit as Mama used to say.” A thought suddenly struck Winn. “Speaking of Mama, I clean forgot about them. They need to know about what’s happened.” “You’ve been too busy to think about anything but survival, Winn. I called Mama the day after the storm so she could be praying. Looks like God has answered her prayers. I’ll call her tomorrow and let her know how the Lord is making a way for us.” Winn gave a weak smile, the lines across his face spelled exhaustion. He stood, ready to call it a day and head up to their comfortable accommodations in the

hotel.

Call upon faithful prayer warriors when the valley is deep and a mountain has to move.

19

W ord spread quickly throughout Woodsboro that the Prichard family was moving to Taft. Winn was bombarded with questions and comments from the regulars in Mac’s. Roger acted downright angry, though he was usually in an uproar about something. “Couldn’t ya find a place here to continue printing the News , Winn? Who am I gonna spar with?” The old guy looked around the café. “These bums don’t know cucumbers from watermelons; I can’t carry on a good argument with none of ‘um.” Winn put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I don’t believe that for a minute, Codger. You and Sam carry on a pretty good war of words every morning.” Sam said, “We’ve only had one disagreement.” He chuckled. “And it’s ongoing.” Roger smirked. “Yeah we disagree about your mentality. You think you’re smart and I say you’re as dumb as a fence post.” “See? That’s what I’m saying.” Winn laughed along with the other customers. “Taft is only a hop down the road. Y’all can pile in Sam’s car and pop in any time.” Mac said, “Hope might have something to say about that, especially if somebody’s got a bottle in the car.” That comment was met with knowing nods. Winn said, “Well, you got that right. But seriously, drop by the shop anytime—especially if you have a printing job or an ad for the Tribune.” He grabbed his hat from the rack and tipped it in a farewell gesture answering Jack’s whistle as he ed by the birdcage.

The day went quickly while Billy helped Winn break down the linotype and Eddie packed the parts in wooden boxes Sophie built for them. September 4th, the Friday before Labor Day, Floyd and his movers loaded the truck with the bulk of the machine, the job press, boxes, and type case. Bags of clothes,

salvaged household items, and Dove’s new play pen were placed in the cargo bin of the Greyhound Bus. Mrs. Warren gave them a box of sandwiches and cookies. Hope’s Sunday school class gave her a basket of baked goods as a farewell gesture. They said their good-byes to Priscilla Thursday afternoon, but Eddie was at the bus Friday morning. Winn shook his brother’s hand. “It’s not like we’re moving across Texas, Eddie. I’ll call you when we get a phone connected.” “Okay Winston, b-but it feels like you’re going a long way away.” He looked at Hope, Dove and the boys. “I’ll miss all of you.” Hope gave him a hug. “We’ll miss you, too, Eddie. You’ll be just fine with Mother Prichard and Thelma to keep you in line.” He smiled and gave a wave to the boys. They hollered over their shoulder, “So long, Uncle Eddie.” Sophie’s truck pulled up beside the bus. “Wait—wait!” Sophie’s gravelly voice rang out from the window. Her hefty body wriggled out onto the running board. She hurried to the bed of the truck and grabbed a box. Winn met her. “What do you have there, Sophie?” “It’s Hope’s sewing machine.” She puffed heavily as she gave the box to the driver for the cargo bin. Winn said, “Sophie fixed your sewing machine, Hope.” “Oh, my goodness, I thought it was lost forever.” “I soldered the wheel back on and it turns purty good.” Sophie took a few steps backward. “Oh, the tension knob was jammed so I fixed it.” “Thank you so very much, Sophie!” “No need for thanks.” She waved, climbed in her truck and drove away without a backward glance. Hope swiped away a tear from her cheek. “That’s true Christian love from a

huge heart.” Winn held her elbow as she stepped into the bus. “Yep, that’s love when you don’t expect anything in return. She really likes you, Hope.”

Marty and Billy sat in the front seat of the bus, jabbering to the driver. Marty couldn’t sit still. “We’re going to print the newspaper in Taft and live upstairs right over the shop.” Billy looked ahead with enthusiasm. “And the school is at the end of the street. We might even get a paper route.” Marty pointed to a small sign by the side of the road and read it aloud. “He saw the train.” He looked at the driver. “What does that mean?” The driver grinned. “Keep looking…the next part is coming up.” Billy craned his neck and found another sign. “And tried to duck it.” The man at the wheel pointed to the one following. The boys read it together. “He kicked the gas.” Searching up ahead, they saw one. “And then the bucket.” The next sign said, “Use Burma Shave.” They bent over with giggles. The other engers caught the humor as well, chuckling at the boys more than the Burma Shave ad. The bus driver said, “I see ‘um all over. One of my favorites is, ‘Hardly a driver is still alive who ed on hills doing 75’.” Dove was on Hope’s lap as they sat beside Winn a few seats behind the boys. Hope leaned toward Winn. “I was concerned about how they would feel about leaving their friends. I’m glad to see them having fun, they’ve worked hard since the storm.” “So have you, Sugar.” Winn put his arm around her. “And we have a long way to go before our first edition.” He lifted his eyes ahead to the highway—and beyond. She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. The baby had

been lulled to sleep as the bus traveled south ing fields of cotton. Raising her head, she looked at her husband’s profile and saw determination in his features. “Winn?” “Hmm.” His gaze shifted from the road to face her. “How do you plan to widen the back door and how are we going to move that big press?” He lifted her chin to look directly into her soft brown eyes. “I’ll start out with plan A, and hope that works because plan B is pretty shaky, and then if all else fails; we’ll go to plan C which is sawing through the wall myself.” A smile spread across his lips. “No, Sugar, don’t you worry about moving the Cranston. I’ll find a carpenter who wants to earn a few bucks and when the door is finished, Floyd will come back with some men. We’ll get it on a platform and roll it on long, thick poles like we moved her twenty years ago. As it rolls, we’ll pick up the pole in back and place it in front, over and over while it’s being slowly pulled by the truck. I plan to have Big Black Bertha in the building by next week.”

As soon as they arrived in Taft, their feet hit the pavement running. Winston was a man with a mission. He located a carpenter who needed work and the high, wide double door construction was soon underway. While all that activity was taking place, Hope and the boys went to a used furniture store. With some of the borrowed funds, they found bargain prices for two double beds, a highchair, a table and four wooden chairs. Oh, and three oscillating fans, a necessity for getting any sleep during September nights in south Texas. Happy to make such a big sale, the store owner agreed to make the delivery immediately. Waiting for the delivery, Hope sent the boys to the IGA store across the street for a broom, mop, and cleaning supplies. The electricity was turned on that afternoon. Billy and Marty placed their bed in the far side of the front room with Dove’s playpen on the other side. Marty looked out their window to the lot of St. Augustine grass that separated them from the post office. “This is slick as a whistle, Billy. If you look out the side here, you can see the street and people walking along the sidewalk.”

His brother squeezed beside him to get a glimpse of the view. “Yeah, if you want to get a crick in your neck.” Billy adjusted the fan and plopped on the bed. “Let’s ask Mom if we can go exploring tomorrow.” He turned on the radio they purchased at the bargain store. Gazing out the window, they listened to Gang Busters while their imagination formed images of each character.

Getting ready for bed, Winn said, “You must be whipped, Sugar.” “Me? You’ve been going like Tarzan swinging from vine to vine across the jungle.” She pulled her hair up off her neck and leaned in front of the fan. “I’ve been thanking the Lord for so many things, Winn. Everything is going to come together. You need to pace yourself.” “I’m fine—all of this is exciting. I like figuring out how to overcome obstacles.” He sat on the bed and ired her slim figure through her thin cotton nightgown. “Come to think of it, I’m thankful for one thing in particular right now.” She turned to look at him. “What?” He reached for her. “Our own bedroom where we can close the door.”

Open windows void of shades allowed the regalia of Saturday morning’s sun to flood the upstairs of the new Prichard Printing Company. Dove was the first to wake and alert the family to start their day. They planned to have breakfast at the Coffee Cup Café in the next block. “Hey, Pop, take a gander out the window. It’s an invasion of trucks and people setting up tents.” Billy gazed across the large lot below which had been vacant the night before. Marty pressed his nose against the glass. “Well, take a breath and blow me down. What’s going on?” With Dove on her hip, Hope peeked around them and Winn stood behind them like they were watching a film production magically performing out their

window. He said, “It must be the Braceros from the cotton fields.” Billy said, “Braceros?” Winn nodded. “It means something like ‘arms for work’ in Spanish. I heard about how the Mexican migrant workers descend on Taft every week-end in the fall. They set up camp and enjoy the town, making it fiesta time after a week of hard work.” Walking to the cafe, they dodged people and tables with wares in front of stores on Green Street. Music blared from open doorways. Hope said, “This is the closest thing to a carnival I’ve ever seen.” “Gosh, this is really something. Nothing like this happened in Woodsboro.” Billy stepped around a table of work clothes and shoes in front of Cohen’s Clothing Store. Waiting for their order in the coffee shop, Billy broached the subject of exploration around their new surroundings. “Mom, I know there’s a lot to do, but could Marty and I take a look around? Maybe walk up to the school. We won’t be gone long.” Marty said, “Yeah, I’d like to sniff out the territory and see if there are any other kids around.” Winn winked at Hope. “I think we can get along without the fellows for a while this morning. Don’t you think so, Sugar?” She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. “Wel-l, I’m not so sure. They’re my right-hand men.” “I thought Pop was your right-hand man,” Marty said. “You can never have too many.” She gave them a smile. “Of course, you may. After breakfast, scout around and give us a report. But don’t talk to any of those strangers; some of them look like gypsies.” The waitress brought their orders. She was quite young and wore a freshly ironed red and white checked apron. “Hey, y’all, here’s your order. Now that didn’t take long, did it?” She sat her tray on the table next to theirs. “Let’s see,

Ma’am, you have the eggs over easy with biscuits and small oatmeal for the little miss. And, Sir, a short stack with bacon. This big guy ordered the same.” She sat hot cakes in front of Billy. Marty grinned. “And this little piggy had scrambled eggs.” Winn said, “You got it all straight. Thanks. What’s your name?” “Pauline. My mother named me after the movie serial Perils of Pauline, but she didn’t know what perils meant until later. She prays all the time that I don’t have any perils.” Her freckles popped across her nose with a blush. “I’ll be right back with more coffee and milk for you boys.” A group of men were seated at a large table near the counter. Winn said, “Just like every burg large enough for a café I’ve ever been in. There’s a group who meet in the mornings to hash out the news.” Marty said, “Yep, looks like they’re hashing things out while eatin’ their hash ‘n eggs.” Billy groaned. “Oh, Brother, and I do mean, brother. You’re worse than Red Skelton. Come on, let’s have a look see around town.” He gulped his last swallow of milk. “May we be excused?” “Your Grandmother would be proud you asked. Sure, see you fellas later.” Winn smiled at them and then glanced at the table of men. Hope fed Dove the rest of her oatmeal. “I know you want to introduce yourself to those men and I need to get back and sort out the clothes. I need to make a list of essentials. If I’m not there when you get back, I’ll be at the grocery store across the street.” “Okay, Sugar. See if you can find a stroller for Dove, she’s getting too heavy to carry everywhere.” Hope picked her up. “Oh, no, she’ll be walking soon. No need to spend money on a carriage.” Winn leaned over and whispered in her ear. “And don’t talk to any of those strangers.” She met his grin. He picked up his coffee mug and headed for an

empty chair at the men’s table. “Good morning, I’m Winn Prichard. My wife and I bought the Tribune from Mr. Patrick.” His introduction was heartily accepted with nods and smiles. A well-groomed gentleman shook Winn’s hand. “Sit down, Mr. Prichard. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m Sal Cohen, owner of Cohen’s Clothing.” “How do you do,” Winn said. “We ed by your display on the sidewalk in front of your store. Looks like it’s going to be a busy day.” “We hope so. My sons are in charge of sidewalk sales. We usually do a fair amount of business on Saturdays during cotton picking season.” A man across the table in work clothes said. “Howdy, we figured you were the new owner of the paper. George told us about ya. I’m Sergio Rodriquez; I work at the hardware for ole Leo here.” He waved a hand toward the man next to him. “Correction,” Leo said with a whimsical glint. “He seldom works, but shows up on payday.” He stood to lean over and shake hands. “Leonard Graves, everybody calls me Leo.” Several others greeted Winn and welcomed him to their table and to Taft. Winn nodded with each introduction, making an effort to the names. “We were surprised to see the trucks and canopy’s set up in the lot next to us.” Sergio said, “Yep, some are probably my relatives from south of the border. Since so many of the local farm workers have left for the armed forces or military factories, migrant laborers have shown up by the hundreds to get the cotton picked. They bring all the family—bambinos to abuelos.” Winn smiled. “I guess that’s babies to grandparents.” Sergio nodded. Winn ed in conversation about current activities in the community and finished his coffee. He had a spring in his step walking to the shop midst buzzing Spanish and English transactions on the sidewalk. The carpenter was well underway stabilizing the frame of the new back door. Winn began to unpack the boxes of linotype parts and lay them out to assemble. Hope came in the front door followed by the grocery delivery boy with her ration book purchases of non-perishables. As she entered the building a prayer crossed her thoughts. Lord God, thank you for answered prayer. Help us get

everything done in order to start bringing in some cash. The boy set the box on the table upstairs. Hope rummaged in her purse for some coins. He said, “Oh, no, Ma’am. My daddy pays me to work in the store, I’m not allowed to take tips.” “Your daddy runs the IGA?” “Yes, Ma’am. My name is Randy—Randy Murdoch.” “You must be about thirteen, the same age as my oldest boy.” Randy grinned. “That’s right. I met Billy and Marty a while ago when I was walking to the store. Billy and I will be in the same grade. Well, I gotta go. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Prichard.” He headed down the stairs. She sat Dove in her playpen and said to her, “See there, your brothers have already met a friend and I’m sure your daddy has met several.”

An hour later, the boys bounded up the stairs. Billy found Hope first. “Mom, a covered hauler in the lot is selling tacos.” Marty said, “And they have shaved ice with flavors in paper cups. They’re like snow cones only they call ‘um raspas. I’m going to buy one.” She said, “That sounds good, but get it later; we have work to do first.” “Speaking of first,” Billy said, the First Baptist Church is near the school. Can we go in the morning?” Marty said, “The sign out front said Sunday school is at 9:00. I bet we can meet lots of kids there.” She smiled at their eager faces. “I’m sure you can. Church is the best place to meet Christian friends, but that shouldn’t be your main objective in going to church.” Billy said, “Ah, we know that, Mom. But may we?”

“Of course you may. I just took out the clean clothes Mrs. Hopkins washed. They’re stacked on the floor until we get some hangers and shelves up.” Marty walked to the playpen and knelt down. “Hey, Dovey. Where’s your toys, huh? Let’s see if I can find something for you to play with in one of these bags.” “I need to go help Pop put the linotype back together,” announced Billy as he raced down the stairs.

Success comes before work only in the dictionary.

RICHLAND RECORDER



Richland, Texas Thursday, October 19, 1972



Each year from June to the end of November is hurricane season. Residents near the Atlantic coast or along the Gulf of Mexico keep on the alert for news of tropical storms that have the potential of developing into hurricanes. Now days, we are fortunate to have warnings well in advance of impending storms, unlike the folks in the Great Galveston Hurricane of 1900. The Weather Bureau didn’t name Hurricanes until 1950 and until then, they were referred to by date or location. Incredible, even on the brink of unbelievable, stories have been related about the havoc invoked by storms. I have personally witnessed the result of two major hurricanes, each brought about a significant change for me and my family. When a hurricane raced toward the Texas coast in 1919, the small community of Taft was in the direct path of the storm. Winds exceeding 100

mph and tides that rose 16 feet above sea level devastated the area. Mighty hurricane-force winds picked up a huge Cranston printing press from the building that housed the town newspaper, The Texas Ranch Review. The two-ton machine was swept away and hurled into a cotton patch, where it sunk into the muddy earth. Before the storm, the sisters who owned the newspaper were on the brink of discontinuing publication. The paper had been limping along because there were few businesses in the area to their venture. Thinking the press had disintegrated in the storm, the sisters were downright slack-jawed when a farmer reported the Cranston’s whereabouts. Seeing the press embedded in the ground two miles from town, they walked away, allowing it to rest in peace. Two years later, I was a young printer looking for a job in Corpus Christi and met Mr. W.S. Clark who was interested in starting a newspaper in Taft. In looking for a location there, we were told about a printing press available at no cost if we were willing to retrieve it. We followed directions along a farm road and were surprised to find a rusty press sitting in the middle of a cotton field. The challenge was almost laughable, but youth and deter-mination drove us on through the arduous process of exhuming the mud-clogged giant with a crew of workers and team of mules. In a building, we dismantled it, and rebuilt it from the ground up. The iron bed, ink trays, gears, rods, nuts, and bolts were laid on the floor. Each piece was cleaned and oiled, only the rubber ink rollers had to be replaced. The shiny, good-as-new press was born again and christened “Big Black Bertha.” On May 5, 1921, which happened to be my twenty-ninth birthday, the first issue of The Taft Tribune was printed. After a few months, I moved on in search of higher wages. Two decades later, Hope and I owned The Woodsboro News, twenty-four miles from Taft. In August 1942 a hurricane hit the Texas coast at Matagorda Bay and blasted inland with a vengeance. We huddled in our little building and just after midnight, the telephone operator from across the street saw tin sheets from our roof sail through the sky. She phoned to

give warning and tell us we needed to evacuate to her brick building and that we did. Hope and our two boys, Billy and Marty, held on to me as I clutched ten-month-old, Dove. We escaped the wind battered building just as it imploded behind us, destroying most of our equipment and personal belongings. Miraculously, we were able to purchase The Taft Tribune that had just been offered for sale. Big Black Bertha was still in operation and we printed our paper on that press for six years. It never ceases to amaze me how our personal history sometimes contributes to our future. Though times may appear bleak, my eighty years has taught me there is always something to be thankful for. May the good Lord keep you safe through the storms of life. That’s -30-.

20

“E ddie, we got our phone installed.” “Winston, it’s s-so good to hear f-from you.” Eddie turned his face away from the receiver. “Mother, it’s Winston. H-he has a telephone now.” Priscilla put her coffee cup in her saucer, none too gently, and pushed up from the kitchen chair. “Let me have that phone.” The receiver shook in Eddie’s hand as he held it out to her. “Winston, it’s about time you called. I could be in dire straits for all you know.” Winn sat on the edge of the desk to brace for the tongue lashing. “Mother, we’ve been as busy a cat in barn full of mice. I called as soon as the telephone man left. How are you?” “What does it matter how I am? You are too far away to help me if I was on my deathbed. When are you going to move us to Taft?” Hope sat at the desk and smiled at Winn’s facial expressions of familiar exasperation in dealing with his mother. “Even if I was there, I couldn’t do much if you were on your deathbed. I called to give you our number. Hope just got back from ing the boys at school this morning and Floyd is due here any minute to move the press.” Priscilla drummed her fingers on the small phone stand. “All of that doesn’t answer my question, Winston. Should Thelma and Eddie start packing boxes?” Winn swiped a hand across his face. “Yes, I was answering your question, Mother. I’m trying to tell you we haven’t had a moment to spare outside of what needs to be done first. The carpenter worked through Labor Day week-end. He enlarged the back door and built kitchen cabinets. We have a plumber coming later to repair a toilet and put in a kitchen sink upstairs. Can’t you see we have to get ourselves settled first?” “Well, then, since you’ve tended to everything else, do you have time for your

mother now?” He stood, ready to end the conversation. “Yes, Mother, we’ll start looking for a place for you and Eddie. Tell him and Thelma they can begin sorting out things for the move. Do you have a pencil there to write down our number?” “Of course I have a pencil and pad on my telephone stand.” She picked up a stub of a pencil. “What is the number?” “It’s number 55. We were able to keep the number the Tribune has had for years. Let me give you our address while you have a pencil. It’s 314 Green Ave. We’ll see you soon, Mother. Can you put Eddie back on the phone, please?” Without further comment, she thrust the receiver back toward Eddie. “H-hello, Winston?” “Listen, Eddie. We’ve been snowed under here, but I’ve been thinking of you. We’re going to be on the lookout for a little house for you and Mother. You and Thelma can start packing, but you need to get rid of a bunch of stuff. Now is a good time to clear out junk. Can you do that?” Always happy for an assignment and an opportunity to please Winn, Eddie nodded. “S-sure I can. I’m anxious to see your shop. How are the boys and my little sweetheart?” “The boys are fine, they started school this morning and Dove is right here in her playpen. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.” He placed the phone in the cradle. “Whew. I’m glad that’s done. How did school registration go?” Hope’s face lit up. “When we walked onto the school yard, several boys ran to meet them. Randy from the grocery was waiting for Billy and took him to his class. Another boy grabbed Marty and off they went. I signed them in at the office and the secretary is going to get the records from Woodsboro. Simple as that.” “I guess they met quite a few kids Sunday at church.” He saw Floyd’s open moving van pull up in front. “There’s Floyd—look, the back of his truck is full of workers. I told you Big Bertha will be in the shop this week. Call Baldwin Paper Company and place an order for newsprint.” He gave her a peck on her forehead and hurried toward the door. He turned and said, “The painter said he’d

be here this morning to start on the sign across the front of the building.” Hope watched him fly across the sidewalk to the truck with the enthusiasm of a youngster. Thank you, Father, for this place. Guide Winn and the movers with that big press. Don’t let anyone get hurt. Direct our steps to establish a good newspaper and print shop to the best of our ability. Please help me to know where and how to start. She looked at Dove, who was drifting off to sleep. Oh, Lord, take care of Dove, don’t let anything happen to her. A small tremor flitted faintly across her chest. I miss Mary Jane, so. It’s sad they couldn’t have grown up together. She shook her head in onition of downcast thoughts and picked up the phone. It felt strange not to hear Rosalie, but the unfamiliar voice from the phone company was friendly. She placed an order at the paper supplier on credit which had been established with them for years. Then she made a person-to-person call to the Mobil Gas Station next door to Mama and Papa in Hempstead. “Sugar? Is that you?” “Yes, Papa, how are you?” Mama’s voice chimed in with Hollis’s gruff sounding answer. “We’re doin’ fine, been wondering how things are there.” “Hello, Mama. It’s good to hear you both. I want to give you our phone number and let you know we’re doing well. Everything is working out. I miss all of you. How are Betsy and Pearl?” “Betsy’s doin’ a heap of grievin’ right now. The widow Sloane ed away. Betsy took care of her for so long, Mrs. Sloane was like family to her. Now she don’t know what to do with herself, but she’s going to look for a job. Pearly Mae still sticks to the house, ‘cept for church doings.” Hearing her mother’s voice with a word or two from her daddy was a balm to Hope’s soul. She gave them a report on the activities and the anticipation of getting the business up and running soon. Papa said, “Y’all hush, this is costin’ too much, Sugar, and you got things to tend to.”

Mama wiped her face with her hanky. “He’s right, Hope. Thank you for callin’ and you now, y’all are always in my prayers.” “Wait, I didn’t give you the number, it’s 55, you got that? Give Betsy and Pearl my love and you know you’re in my prayers too. Love you both.” After their good-byes, Hope hung up and sighed with renewed strength, ready to face whatever obstacles hit her. She ran her hand over the scratched desk and old Remington typewriter. Thank you, Jesus for Mr. Patrick’s office equipment and press. Looking around the spacious building, she envisioned a stocked office supply in the front and smartly decorated windows displaying her supplies. She leaned an elbow on the desk and cupped her chin in her hand. “Let’s see, I can build a half wall over there to separate the back shop and shelves all the way across that wall. And then …” The screen door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped inside. “Mrs. Prichard?” Hope jumped in surprise and stood by the imaginary counter she had just conjured. “Yes, I’m Hope Prichard, may I help you?” The slim woman had a pleasant smile. “I’m hoping I can help you, I’m Susan Sims. I worked for Mr. Patrick for twelve years.” Hope shook hands with her. “Pleased to meet you Mrs. Sims.” “Call me Susan, please.” She spied the playpen and Dove. “Oh, what a precious baby.” She tiptoed a few steps closer. A smile of motherhood pride swept across Hope’s face. “Her name is Dove Lynnette; she’ll be a year old next month.” They stood in iration of the baby for a moment before Susan stepped away from the playpen. “Mrs. Prichard, I know how difficult it must be to get settled and start up the Tribune again and I want to offer my help.” “Oh, Mrs. Sims—Susan, we can’t afford anyone right now.” Susan softly patted Hope’s arm. “I realize circumstances are hard after all you and your husband have gone through in losing so much. I don’t expect to be

paid, until you get on your feet, and then we’ll see if you still need me.” Hope indicated a chair and walked to the one behind the desk. “Let’s sit down. That’s quite a generous offer.” They faced one another. Susan sat her purse on the desk. “Well, it’s as much for me as you, Mrs. Prichard. May I call you, Hope?” Hope nodded and Susan went on. “You see, my husband, Giles, was a Chaplain in the last war and volunteered to serve in this one. We have no children and the paper gave me something to do. I especially need to keep busy now and wish to do what I can to help the Tribune. It’s been such a big part of my life.” Hope was at a loss for words. “Susan, you just may be the answer to prayer.” “I certainly want to live my life as answer to prayer—mine and anyone else’s.” She laughed. “Mr. Patrick told me all about your family and said you’re making your home upstairs here. That’s wonderfully convenient.” She looked at the file cabinet. “I know you must have so much to do. I can go through the files and retype the illegible waterlogged pages so you can have a list of rs to . I practically know them from memory. I’m available to run errands, I have a car.” “A car? Now I know you’re an answer to prayer.”

In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation.

Psalms 5:3

21

T aft, known as “The Friendliest Cotton Pickin’ Town in Texas,” is rich in gas and oil resources. Originally, it was the center of the million acre Taft Ranch, built by Charles Phelps Taft, half-brother of President William Howard Taft. In 1942 its population was around twenty-seven hundred within the city limits. But it was the hub of the many farmers and ranch hands throughout the county. The first issue of The Taft Tribune with Winston Prichard as the new editor-inchief was published on Thursday, September 17th. Hope spread the issue out on the counter. Winn leaned against her shoulder as she read, “San Patricio’s leading newspaper, The Tribune is non-political, non-sectarian, and non-partisan. With the largest circulation in the county, The Tribune covers San Pat like the sunshine, devoted to the best interests of Taft and surrounding area.” Her eyes slid to Winn. “You printed it, now can you keep your column non-political?” “Of course—that is until it becomes crucial for me to express my learned opinion about an election.” She scooped up the paper and hit him with it. “And get beat up in an alleyway again like when you expressed your very political view about Governor O’Daniel?” He ducked before the second blow. “I agreed to let you read all my controversial columns, didn’t I?” “You agreed to let me read them, but I didn’t agree for you to slip something in just before press time.” He snatched the paper from her and gave her a playful swat on the backside before landing a kiss smack on her lips.

The long time rs of the Tribune continued their ads. Susan’s help was invaluable in acquainting Hope and Winn about which ones were paying customers and who bartered for merchandise or services. Winn and Hope were amazed at the amount of help Billy was in hand-setting type for ads. The three of

them worked late nights while Marty was in charge of Dove. Billy and Marty were delighted that the theater owner, Clarence Ingram, gave tickets in payment of his weekly schedule in the paper. He also gave them a free popcorn or candy bar for the printing of handbills which were displayed in local stores. With Susan running the front office, Hope concentrated on getting out printing jobs quickly. One evening Winn was at the linotype and looked up to see Hope busy at the desk. He was ready for a break and sneaked up behind her. “Whatcha doing?” Her pencil made a jagged mark across her paper. “Oh, you scared me.” “Hmm, that must mean you’re guilty about something.” Her expression was indignant. “I am not guilty of anything. I’m drawing plans for the front of the shop and our office supply business.” “Your office supply business—that’s strictly your deal, Sugar.” “Well, okay, my office supplies. Wanna see?” “Of course.” He leaned over her shoulder and studied her meticulous layout showing a three foot wall separating the back shop from the front. “The small partition is a good idea, it gives the notion of no entrance, yet it allows us to see up front and vice versa. I like the shelves along the wall on this side with a showcase and the desk in back of the counter over here.” “Do you know there’s not an office or school supply store within twenty miles of Taft? At first I can stock the paper goods we need for our printing jobs and slowly build up our retail supplies.” Her bright eyes exploded with enthusiasm. “In a month or so, I can order Christmas cards and personalized printing of them.” “Ah, Sugar, this is a dream come true, isn’t it? When the storm came down on all we had, I felt our paper dream was crushed forever.” “Maybe for a moment, but not for long. You wouldn’t let a hurricane blow away your lifelong ambition. The way we’ve been able to move here and have a larger

plant proves positively God gave your heart the desire to be a publisher. This is an answered prayer and on top of it all, Billy has such an interest in the business. And I don’t know what I’d do without Marty taking care of Dove; he’s so good with her.” Winn sat on the edge of the desk. “Besides all of that, can you guess what the very best thing is?” “I could name lots of things, but what?” “You—you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Sugar.” She reached up and pulled his head down for a kiss.

The boys gained popularity immediately and invited friends to the movie when Hope and Winn were too busy or too tired to go. They had enough money from their paper route in Woodsboro to buy used bikes from a bicycle repair shop. Marty got a Houston Chronicle paper route, but Billy said he wanted to spend his afternoons working in the print shop. Hope finally got a normal kitchen with the installment of a sink, stove and icebox on the back wall of the room at the top of the stairs. After a grocery delivery one late afternoon, Billy grabbed the pack of white vegetable margarine and gave it a squeeze before tossing it to Marty. “Let’s see who can pop the capsule of yellow dye. Only one squeeze and you’ve got to pitch it back.” Marty squished it and tossed it to Billy, but Winn caught it and pinched the berry inside. He kneaded it a few times until the oleo turned yellow.” “Pop, that’s no fair.” Marty threw up his hands. “Making it turn yellow is the only good thing about that yucky stuff.” The supper table was lively with the boys’ conversation about school and activities. Billy made a remark about a poster contest promoting a metal and paper drive starting at school. Marty said, “Mine’s going to say, “Slap ‘um flat with your metal scrap.” Hope said, “I wonder how all those Japanese people in relocation camps think

about being hated because their parents or grandparents came from Japan? Not only the Japanese, but the Germans and Italians who have lived here all their lives.” Billy said, “But, some of them could be spies. We can’t take a chance. They could sabotage a ship yard or something because they’re loyal to their country— not ours.” Winn nodded. “You’re right, Billy. That’s why they’re being rounded up. We can’t be too careful on all fronts.” “They could get wind of a war plan and write a relative over in Japan or about it. Loose lips sink ships. Can I have some more rice pudding, Mom?” Marty held out his bowl. Hope gave him another helping of dessert. “Thanks. Well, anyway, my poster is going to have a cartoon picture of a soldier holding a sword with slanted eyes and big buck teeth. It’s gonna win.”

Saturday afternoon, Hope finished printing business cards for Mr. Brooks at the bank. She cleaned and returned the type to the case and gave a final swipe of her cleaning rag, damp with kerosene, across the job press plate. Pulling her apron off, she said, “I think I’ll see how Marty and Dove are doing. Marty said they were going out back under the tree.” Typing speedily at the linotype, Winn said, “Okay, Sugar, I’m almost to a stopping point for supper.” Hope stepped outside and to her horror saw Dove sitting on the blanket with a rope tied around her waist, the other end was attached to the tree. Marty was not in sight. She rushed to untie the baby who seemed perfectly content watching a half dozen boys play baseball in the vacant lot thirty yards away. “Oh, Dove, Baby—your brother is in big trouble.” Hope picked her up and marched toward Marty who was at bat at the far end of the lot. She hollered, “Martin, get over here this instant.” She used the tone every child knows and dreads. Marty’s hands froze on the bat, every eye turned toward Hope. She yelled. “Put down that bat and come here, young man.” He hung his head in embarrassment and dropped the bat. The fire in his mother’s eyes was enough to put the fear of God in him and make it stay.

“Aw, Mom. I was watching her.” “No you weren’t, you were watching the ball.” She grabbed his ear like a vise and pulled him toward the back of the shop. “Didn’t you stop to think what could’ve happened? The rope could have tangled around her neck. Ants or anything could’ve stung her. The ball could’ve hit her.” Hope’s fury wrapped around and around Marty. Dove started crying. Marty burst out bawling, he flung his arms around his mother’s waist, encoming Dove. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Dovey.” The door slammed behind Winn as he rushed toward them with Billy at his heels. Winn said, “What happened?” He rubbed Dove’s forehead, looking for blood. “Is she all right? Marty, are you hurt?” Marty rubbed his face back and forth on Hope’s cotton work dress. Hope explained the situation. Billy said, “But, you were keeping an eye out for her, weren’t you, Marty?” Marty’s red, blotchy face peeked out from the embrace. “Sure I was.” Billy looked from one parent to the other. “He could get to her really fast if she started crying. He runs like Jesse Owens.” Winn gently pulled Marty away from Hope to look in his eyes. “Now, listen, Son …” “I know, I know now—I shouldn’t have done it.” His intake of breath was jagged. “But, honest, Pop, I kept looking over at her, she was okay.” His daddy put an arm around him. “Let’s go inside.” Marty glanced at the side yard, it was empty—the ball game had come to an abrupt halt. Once inside, Winn spoke sternly to him. “When you’re asked to watch Dove while we’re working, we depend on you. You have the most important job of all. You mustn’t take any chances of anything happening to your little sister. You how we all felt when we lost Mary Jane, don’t you?” Hurt suddenly marked Winn’s features showing his regret for bringing up such a heartbreaking time. Marty let out another wail prompting Dove to cry again. “I-I . I’ll take good care of her, I promise.” He wiped a dirty hand across his nose.

Billy took Dove in his arms and patted her back. Hope stared at Marty, seeming to bore directly into his lack of judgement. Finally she spoke. “All right, Marty. I think you learned a lesson. Go wash up and I’ll fix supper.” She walked slowly up the stairs to the kitchen. Marty ran to his bedroom and flung himself across the bed. Billy put Dove in her playpen and sat on the bed beside his brother. “Boy, oh boy, Marty, that was sure dumb.” “Shut up, Billy.” “I took up for you didn’t I?” Marty didn’t answer and turned to face the wall. That evening, Marty and Billy listened to the broadcast of Suspense on the little radio in their room. Later, lying in bed, Marty whispered, “It was pretty dumb.” A moment later, he said, “You think I could be in the Olympics like Jesse Owens?”

Keep vigil, keep guard, protect my children, O Lord. May Your angels be present every hour. Thank You for Your might and power.

22

W inn waited for Priscilla to answer the phone. “Hello, Mother. We found a nice little rent house just a few blocks from the shop. It has two bedrooms and good size kitchen with a screened-in porch across the front.” Priscilla looked at the packed cardboard boxes in the kitchen. “Is there a living room and a decent tub in the bathroom?” Winn impatiently rubbed a hand across his face. “Yes, your chairs and radio will fit perfectly in the living room and there’s a claw foot tub. I think you’ll really be happy with it.” He looked at Hope and rolled his eyes as if to say, ‘if she could be happy with anything.’ “Will you trust my judgement so I can go ahead and rent it? Places are hard to come by.” His mother sighed and shifted her eyes toward Eddie who was antsy with excitement. “Oh, I suppose I have no choice in the matter. Edward can’t stand still; he wants to talk to you.” Eddie eagerly took the phone. “H-hello, Winston. Did you find a place; is it cclose to your print shop? When can we move in?” Laughing, Winn said, “Yes, yes and I’ll find out if Floyd is available Saturday. I’ll ride the bus over there to help you on moving day. And then the three of us will ride back on the bus. How does that sound?” “Very good. Thelma and I w-will finish packing and be ready.” Winn turned from the desk after saying good-bye to Eddie. “Now, I need to make the first month’s rent and make sure next Saturday is okay with the landlord before calling Floyd.” Hope reached up and smoothed his hair back. “So far everything is working out right on schedule, Winn. Maybe before Saturday, you can get a haircut.”

Saturday morning, Winn was on the first bus north out of Taft with a haircut a bit too short to his liking. I sure miss Butler’s Barber Shop. I miss a lot of things about Woodsboro, but I’ve always adjusted to new places. I hope Mother will be satisfied with the house, but I suspect she’ll find fault with something. By the time he walked to Victoria Street, the moving van was there. Floyd and his two helpers were sitting in the front yard. “Good morning, Floyd. You beat me here.” “Yessah, we wanted to get started early, but Mizz Prichard didn’t want to let us in. She said we had to wait outside ‘til you got here.” “For crying out loud.” He tried the door, it was locked. Banging on it, he said, “Mother, Eddie, open the door.” Eddie unlocked it. “T-thank goodness, you’re here, Winston. Mother wouldn’t allow me to let Floyd in. You know how she is about…about…” He glanced at Floyd and lowered his voice. “…people of African descent.” Floyd either didn’t hear or pretended he didn’t. “Can we get started now, Mr. Prichard?” Winn propped the door open. “Yes, let’s get this show on the road without further delay.” Priscilla sat in her wing-back chair in the living room dressed as if she were going to church. Winn approached her with a few choice words on the tip of his tongue. Her glare was arrogant, waiting to repel any comment he threw at her. His mother’s prejudices were deep seated, as much a part of her as her skin. Talking to her now would be facing an old enemy he had tried to shoot down in the past and today held too many battles of its’ own. Defeated before he began, he simply let her bigotry go and forced a cheerful greeting. The truck was almost filled when Pastor Goodman drove up. “Howdy, Winn. I was hoping to catch all of you before you took off.” “It’s good to see you, Pastor.” “We miss your family at church already and of course the town misses the paper.”

Eddie greeted him. “G-good morning, Pastor. It’s s-sure nice of you to stop by.” “Well, I couldn’t let you leave, Eddie, without telling you again how much you’ve meant to the Men’s Sunday school class and the church. How’s your mother?” Floyd and a helper ed by them with her wing-back chair. Eddie said, “She’s fine, please come in.” The house was empty except for one wooden chair in the kitchen where Priscilla was seated giving orders. Thelma was cleaning the cabinets and turned when the men came in. “Hello, Pastor Goodman.” The preacher visited with them for a few moments until Floyd stood in the hallway. “Uh, we’re ready to head on over to Taft and Sanders’ cab is here.” Winn said, “Tell him I’ll be right out. Mother, I need to take your chair.” She feebly stood. “Excuse me, Pastor; Mr. Sanders is going to take us to the bus station.” He carried the chair outside and handed it to Floyd. Winn stepped to the cab. “How are you, Mr. Sanders.” The taxi driver shook hands with Winn. “Fair to middlin’, Winn. I’m going to take y’all on over to Taft.” Taken aback, Winn gave him a puzzled look. “Did Mother or Eddie ask you to do that?” “Nope. I just want to do it for you. Sure gonna miss you, especially those boys. They always stopped to talk to me when I saw them around town.”

Inside, Eddie said, “Th-thelma, we appreciate all you’ve done for us.” Priscilla seemed at a loss for words, she faced the faithful housekeeper for an awkward moment until Thelma filled in the silence. “Miss Priscilla, you take care of yourself. When I finish mopping, I’ll leave the key on the counter here.” Nodding, Priscilla reached out and pressed something in Thelma’s hand. Thelma was shocked to see a five dollar bill. “Oh, no, Ma’am, you’ve already paid me

for the week.” Priscilla turned away. Eddie looked at Thelma and nodded his good-bye. He put his hand on his mother’s elbow and walked with her to the cab.

In Taft, Hope and the boys made sure the rent house was cleaned and ready to receive Priscilla’s and Eddie’s belongings. The boys met Floyd’s truck as it pulled up by the curb in front of the neat bungalow. The taxi was behind the truck. Billy said, “Hey, it’s Mr. Sanders.” They ran to the cab window. Marty said, “Whatcha doin’ here, Mr. Sanders?” The old gent grinned wider than his row of front teeth. “Hello, Boys. I wanted to give your grandmother and Eddie a special send off. How’ve ya been?” He got out and opened the door for Priscilla. She said, “Well, the cab driver gets a greeting before your grandmother.” Billy said, “How are you, Grandmother?” Marty stood behind his brother. “We were just waiting ‘til you got out, Grandmother.” He ran around to the other side where Eddie stepped out. “Hey, Uncle Eddie. Taft’s picture show is called the Texas. It’s bigger than Woodsboro’s and we get a free box of popcorn or a candy bar every time we go.” “Th-that sounds right up my alley. I’ve missed all of you.” Priscilla didn’t acknowledge Hope standing beside the taxi with Dove. But she did reach out to grasp Dove’s hand and gave her a smile. Hope said, “It’s good to have you here, Mother Prichard.” “I’ll soon see if it’s good or not.” Her pose of dignity was a weary performance. Winn gave Hope a kiss and walked to Priscilla. “Let’s get you in the house, Mother, and you can tell Floyd where you want the furniture. I think you’ll want the large bedroom by the bathroom.” She tottered along beside him on the sidewalk looking left and right. “Are you

sure this is a safe neighborhood? I don’t know if I like a screened-in porch in front, someone could cut through the screen and get in.” “The door into the house from the porch has a good lock, I checked it and so does the back door. All of Taft is safe; I doubt you even need to lock your doors.” “Humph, maybe you don’t, but I would be helpless if someone broke in. Eddie would be no help in defending me.” She wiped a handkerchief across her forehead. “It’s so humid here, you need gills to breathe.” “We’re only twenty-four miles further south, Mother. It can’t be that much more humid than Woodsboro.” “Well, it is, I can feel it. We’re closer to the Gulf.” She quickened her baby steps. “I need to see the bathroom first.” Hope said, “Billy and Marty, go see if you can give the movers a hand.” She smiled at Eddie. “You’ll like it here, Eddie, and we need you in the shop.”

After Floyd’s truck was unloaded, the beds were made and essential food was put in the kitchen. Sunday afternoon, more boxes were unpacked. Hope placed dishes in the kitchen cabinets while Priscilla drank coffee and polished off a slice of the cake Hope brought. “Mother Prichard, the woman who works for us in the office recommended a housekeeper. I thought I’d ask her to come by tomorrow so you can see if she would be suitable for you.” “Is she a white woman? You know I don’t tolerate just anyone in my house, sneaking around to use my bathroom when I’m taking my afternoon nap.” Bridle my tongue, Jesus. “Yes, she’s a white lady. She worked for Mrs. Sims mother-in-law, until she moved to Corpus to be closer to her daughter. I can be here when the woman comes if you like.” Priscilla gave Hope a hard look. “You think I can’t make a decision about a housekeeper on my own?” “Of course you can, I just thought you’d feel more comfortable with a stranger

coming to the house until you get to know her.” “Edward will be here.” Eddie had his head stuck in a bottom cabinet cutting newsprint for shelf paper. “But, Mother, I would like to start work at the print shop tomorrow.” Priscilla brushed an imaginary crumb from her dress. “I’ll need you here tomorrow, Edward.” “Yes, Mother.” He stood and carried empty boxes out the back door. His mother’s hierarchy still prevailed supreme.

Sometimes it’s better to keep peace rather than shatter it with words of retaliation against immovable illogic.

23

“Y ou let it slip, Marty, hold it straight.” Hope swung her hammer and pounded the nail directly on the head. “Okay now, that’ll hold it.” “Gee, Mom, how many shelves are you going to make?” “Enough to cover this wall from the partition to the display window. Hand me that board over there.” “You’re sure a good carpenter. How did you learn how to build stuff like that counter?” He gave her the board she had already measured and sawed. She placed it on her pencil mark. “Hold it here, until I get the first nail in. Necessity is the mother of invention and ingenuity is the father. When you need something, you just figure out how to do it, Marty. We need a counter and shelves to display all the supplies I ordered.” Susan looked up from the typewriter across the office. “I would never be able to do such good carpentry work, Hope. I marvel at how professional everything looks.” Hope studied her project. “Thank you, Susan. I’ve made a few small tables and bookshelves, but that counter was the biggest thing I’ve tackled. I think it’ll serve the purpose.” “Indeed it will.” Susan stood and ran her hand over the smooth, lacquered countertop. “I’m going to run to the drugstore and get a soda, can I bring you something?” Marty’s eyes lit up. “I’d like a co-cola and I bet Billy would like one. Can I go with her, Mom?” “Okay, you can bring one back for me. Get some change out of the cash box, Marty.”

Susan picked up her purse. “It’s my treat, come on, Marty.” He skipped ahead and opened the door for her with a bow as she went out. Laughing, she said, “You’re always full of fun, you remind me of my husband.” They headed toward the busy part of town. “I’d like to meet him. Is he still out in the Pacific?” “Yes, but, I don’t know exactly where. His last letter was so censored with black ink I could hardly make sense out of any of it. I was just glad to know he’s all right.” “Can you hold it up to the light and make out the words?” “I tried that, it’s too black. The important thing is, he’s doing God’s work ministering to the boys. He said some of them are very young and scared.” Marty stepped over the cracks in the sidewalk as they ambled along. “Boy, I’d be scared too. I’d write Mom to come get me.” She smiled. “Your mother can do many things, but I’m afraid getting you out of the military once you’ve enlisted, isn’t one of them.” They met Winn on his way back from gathering news and ad copy. He tipped his hat. “Well, fancy meeting you two. Where you headed?” “Hi, Pop. Miss Susan is going to treat us to co-colas. I’m going to help carry them to the shop.” Susan said, “Would you like for us to bring something back for you?” “Thank you, no. I drank enough coffee to float a battleship. Speaking of battleships, what do you hear from Mr. Sims?” Marty said, “She got a letter, but it was all blacked out, ‘cause it’s a secret where he is. He must be right in the middle of the fighting.” Winn tousled Marty’s light brown hair. “It doesn’t mean he’s on the battle front, Marty. The censors have to cut out or blacken anything that might reveal maneuvers.”

Susan said, “Wherever he is, I pray the Lord protects him. See you at the shop, Winn.”

At noon, Hope sent Billy and Marty to their grandmother’s house with homemade pimento cheese sandwiches and coleslaw. They put the sack and jar of iced tea in their bicycle baskets. Eddie was scrubbing the porch floor when they arrived. “Hi, Fellows. It’s nice of your mother to fix d-dinner for us.” They gingerly stepped over the wet boards. Billy said, “I thought Grandmother hired that housekeeper. Why are you cleaning the floor?” “I s-spilled my coffee and Mother wants me to mop the entire porch.” Marty said, “Just pretend you’re Popeye swabbing the deck, Uncle Eddie. That’s what I do when Mom asks me to do something I don’t like. I just imagine I’m Popeye with all his muscles.” Priscilla met them at the door. “Don’t track up my living room. You should have come in the back door.” “Sorry, Grandmother,” Billy said. “We didn’t know the floor was wet. Here’s your dinner. We have to get back, we haven’t eaten yet.” Eddie said, “I’ll take the food, tell your mother we appreciate it. I have a pair of shoes sitting on the steps that need resoled. I’m a little tied up here, could one of you take them to the repair shop. It’s next door to the Texas Theater.” Billy handed the sack and jar to Eddie. “The shoe shop ran an ad last week. I like their slogan, ‘We Save Your Soles’.” Marty tiptoed out and picked up the shoes. “I’ll take ‘um when I go see the Saturday matinee. It’s a Roy Rogers flick.” “Thanks for taking them for me. Enjoy the movie. Wish I could go with you.” Eddie’s eyes slid to his mother. Priscilla said, “There still are boxes to unpack, Edward. I’m sure you aren’t particularly interested in a childish western.”

Billy and Marty scooted out the door and jumped on their bikes before being asked to do a chore.

A week later, Eddie was on his way to the shoe repair shop, claim ticket in hand. Though it was still overcast from an early morning rain, he had a spring in his step with the joy of being out from under his mother’s roof, even for a little while. A few minutes before Eddie got there, the shoe shop owner was sorting mail at his counter when two thugs entered his unlocked back door. One of them hit the man over the head, knocking him out. He dragged the frail man to the back of his shop. Seeing a gold watch chain on the man’s vest, he yanked out the watch and stuffed it in his pocket. The other thief quickly opened the cash and grabbed all the bills. The robbers made a speedy departure the way they entered. Eddie snickered to himself at the sign swinging from the roof overhang, “We Save Your Tired Soles.” He heard a door slam as he came in the front. The rich aroma of leather and polish was pungent. He waited a moment at the counter. “Hello? Anyone here?” Noticing some envelopes scattered on the floor, he set down his claim ticket, picked up the mail, and laid it on the counter. “Hello?” Hmm, guess they stepped out. I’ll go pick up a few things at the drugstore and come back. At the drugstore, Eddie took his time pondering purchases before walking back to the shoe repair shop. A crowd was huddled on the sidewalk and a sheriff’s car was parked out front. As Eddie approached, a man in the crowd shouted. “There he is, he’s the one I saw coming out.” An officer grabbed Eddie’s arm. Eddie began shaking. “W-what are you ddoing?” “I need to ask you some questions.” He pulled Eddie into the shoe shop where the owner was seated at a desk with his head in his hands. “Mr. Cortez, do you recognize this man?” The balding gentleman looked up as if in a daze. “No, no — I didn’t see anybody.” He groaned.

A lady next to him said, “The doctor is coming, Jose.” Eddie said, “Wha, what’s going on? What happened?” Onlookers at the door moved aside for a man carrying a medical bag. The sheriff directed an explanation toward Eddie. “Mr. Cortez was assaulted and money is missing from his cash . You were seen coming out of the shop before he came out on the sidewalk saying he’d been robbed. Do you have identification?” Fumbling in his back pants pocket, Eddie pulled out his worn wallet. “I h-have a card here with my name and … oh, it still has my W-Woodsboro address. My mmother and I just moved here.” The sheriff took the card and studied it. “Your name is Edward Prichard?” Eddie nodded. “A claim ticket was on the counter that corresponds with your name on the stub for a pair of shoes. You were here, did you see Mr. Cortez?” Eddie’s mouth twitched. “I w-was in here to pick up my shoes, bu-but, no one was here. I must’ve set my t-ticket on the counter when I picked up the mail from the fl-floor. I called a couple of times and then left to go to the drugstore.” He held up the sack of purchases as proof. Mr. Cortez said, “I was waking up when I heard someone say, ‘hello’, but I couldn’t answer. I don’t seeing you in my shop.” Eddie rubbed a hand across his forehead. “My n-nephew, Marty Prichard, dropped off my shoes l-last Saturday.” The sheriff said, “Are you kin to the Prichard’s who just bought The Tribune?” “Y-yes, Winston Prichard is my brother.” Eddie was on the verge of tears. “Ccan you call him, please? His number is 55. He will vouch for me. I would never steal from anyone.” The sheriff picked up the telephone and gave the operator the number. “This is Mike Rollins, is Mr. Prichard there?” Susan said, “Hello, Mike, this is Susan. Yes he’s here—just a minute.” She went to the linotype. “Winn, Mike Rollins is on the phone, he’d like to speak with you.”

Winn turned his swivel chair. “Mike Rollins, the Sheriff?” “Yes, he probably has a news item and wants to talk to the editor-in-chief.” A smile flickered across her lips. “The chief, huh, that makes me sound important.” He picked up the receiver lying on the desk. “This is Winn Prichard.” After a moment, Winn’s smile froze. “I’ll be right there.” Hope looked up from her carpentry job. “What is it, Winn?” “I don’t know yet.” He ran out the door with Billy and Marty right behind him. Susan looked at Hope’s worried expression and then sat at the desk. The boys didn’t ask questions, they knew better from the look on their daddy’s face as he walked fast toward the other end of town. The three of them hurried through the shoe repair shop door and saw Eddie’s anguished demeanor. Eddie said, “W-Winston, tell them I wouldn’t rob anyone and would never hurt anybody.” Mike said, “Calm down, Mr. Prichard. We’re just trying to find out all we can and you seem to be the last one in the shop.” He turned to Winn and explained the situation and circumstantial evidence which made Eddie appear guilty. Billy said, “Uncle Eddie didn’t do it, honest. He wouldn’t hurt a mosquito even if it bit him.” Marty’s face was red, fighting back tears. “I brought his shoes to be fixed; he was just picking ‘um up. Don’t take him to jail.” Winn didn’t know who to comfort first. He put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Sheriff Rollins, my brother is a sensitive, Christian man. I can swear he didn’t rob Mr. Cortez. He can give references from the First Baptist Church in Woodsboro where he served as a Deacon. Eddie and my mother just moved here.” Mike nodded. “All right, go on home. I know where to reach you if I have any more questions.” Eddie turned to Mr. Cortez. “H-how are you feeling?”

The man said, “Much better, the doctor said it’s just a bump, it didn’t do any damage. My wife went to get some ice at the drugstore.” “Y-you need to go home and rest.” Eddie stepped closer to the desk. “I hope you don’t have a headache.” Mr. Cortez pushed his chair back. “Let me get your shoes.” Eddie put his palm up. “No, I can get them later. You mustn’t move around.” Winn said, “He’s right, Mr. Cortez, don’t bother about the shoes now. One of my boys can pick them up next week. You just take care of yourself.” He nodded to the sheriff and guided Eddie out the door. The boys and Winn accompanied Eddie home. He was still shaking and sweating profusely. He said, “T-thank you for sticking up for me, I n-never saw Mr. Cortez when I went in his shop.” Winn guided him around a mud puddle from the morning rain. “We know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone, Eddie. The thieves will be caught and that will prove to the sheriff you’re innocent.” As they neared the house, Eddie stopped. “P-please don’t tell M-Mother.” “Oh, no,” Billy said. “We wouldn’t tell Grandmother anything.” Marty pursed his lips and swiped his fingers over his mouth. “Our lips are zipped.”

Build a good reputation and keep your nose clean, you never know when references will come in handy.

24

T he following Wednesday afternoon, Winn got a call from Mike Rollins. “Mr. Prichard, the culprits in the shoe shop robbery have been caught.” Winn’s dull throb of concern ebbed away. “How were they apprehended?” “I alerted pawn shops within a hundred mile radius to be on the lookout for anyone trying to pawn Mr. Cortez’s pocket watch. The Corpus police received a call from a shop when a young man brought in a watch matching the description. The shopkeeper’s wife was able to call the police while her husband detained him until the police showed up. The kid was so green; he didn’t realize word could’ve gotten out so soon, or suspect that the woman went to the back to report it.” “That was pure bravery. Are they sure it’s the same watch?” Rollins chuckled. “It has an inscription and the initials J.M.C. for Jose Manuel Cortez. Just like Mr. Cortez described.” “Well, that pretty well cinches it. Eddie will be relieved. I’ll be down later for the full report for the paper. Thanks for calling.” Winn turned to smile at Hope and Susan. “They nabbed the robbers.” He stepped beside the partition to the back shop. “Hey, Eddie, come up here, I have some good news for you.” Eddie had been utterly distraught over being accused. When he was told the thieves had been caught, he slumped and leaned over the counter. “T-thank you, Jesus.”

The Taft Tribune


A Weekly Publication Serving Central San Patricio County

Taft, Texas October 15, 1942


Local Establishment Robbed

Saturday, October 10th, the shoe repair shop owned by Jose Cortez was robbed. Two people entered from the rear of the shop and assaulted Mr. Cortez on the back of his head with a blunt object, rendering him momentarily unconscious. He didn’t get a look at his assailants. The thieves stole cash from the totaling $28.00 and one of them took a gold watch from Mr. Cortez. After the perpetrators left, Mr. Cortez revived and made his way out onto the sidewalk asking for help. ersby called Sheriff Mike Rollins, who arrived on the scene within minutes. The sheriff put out a bulletin for pawn shops in San Patricio and surrounding counties to be on the lookout for an etched watch with the inscription, J.M.C. According to the police report, a young man came into a Corpus Christi pawn shop with the watch. The pawnbroker kept him waiting while his wife

ed the police. The boy itted to the crime and implicated his cousin who was with him at the robbery, but knew nothing about the watch. The boys are under age, their names were not released, but they are from the Gregory area. They are also charged for another theft which occurred at a gas station in Gregory. In an interview, Mr. Cortez said he has recovered from the injury to his head and is open for business. He said, “My motto is ‘We Save Your Tired Soles’, and I pray those boys ask God to save their souls.”

At the supper table that night, Hope finished feeding Dove. Winn was thoughtful, fiddling with the salt shaker. “Little towns like Taft and Woodsboro are peaceful; folks haven’t had to deal with much crime. They’re used to trusting their neighbors, not even bothering to lock their doors most of the time. It’s a shame a couple of kids came over from another community and committed theft, putting fear into shopkeepers.” Billy picked up his plate and took it to the sink. “They must’ve thought they needed money awfully bad to knock out an old man and steal from him.” “What they did is scary,” Marty said. “I’d be too scared to wallop somebody on the head. Gee whillikers, it would be easier to just get a job.” Hope turned toward Marty. “You’re right about that. It makes me sad to think about their parents. They must be filled with shame to realize their sons have such low morals.” She wiped the baby’s chin. “Oh, we’ve been so busy; I haven’t had time to tell you about Betsy’s letter.” Winn raised his eyebrows. “Has something happened to Mama or Papa?” “No, she wants to come visit us for a few days.” Billy said, “Wow, Mom, that would be swell. I haven’t seen Aunt Betsy in a coon’s age.” “How long is a coon’s age, Billy?” Marty snickered.

Tossing Marty a look of irritation, Billy said, “As long as a coon lives. It’s just a saying, egghead.” He turned to his mother. “How old is Aunt Betsy?” “Let’s see, she must be about twenty-one.” Winn pushed his plate away. “Is there some reason she wants to come?” Hope sat forward in her chair. “Betsy wants to have a few days away from her boyfriend. He proposed and she isn’t sure about saying yes. I guess she wants to think about it on her own before making a decision.” Marty said, “If she tries to sleep in our room, Billy’s snoring will keep her awake.” Billy twisted a dish towel round and around and popped it toward his brother. His mother ignored them. “I figure we could get a cot or rollaway bed for the side of the kitchen here. That will be fine; she’s used to not having much.” Winn took in Hope’s eager face. “Sure, it’ll be good to see her.” Hope leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

The next day, Friday, Winn stopped by Graves Hardware in late afternoon to pick up an ad copy. He found Mr. Graves in the back office with his helper, Sergio. “Come on in and us, Winn.” Winn saw a bottle of Jack Daniels on the desk. His stomach flip-flopped. “Well, what’s the celebration?” Sergio said, “It’s Leo’s birthday. He’s half a century—an old man.” Sergio poured a generous slug into a tin coffee cup and handed it to Winn. “This is our finest china.” He chuckled and held up his cup in a toast. Leonard stood. “Cheers to me—for making it through hard times with good friends.” He raised his cup toward Winn. Winn nodded and clinked his cup with theirs. “To Leo, may he have many more birthdays and celebrate them with good health and friends, which I am proud to

be considered one.” The whiskey went down like a river gushing through a crack in a dam. It quenched a thirst Winn had been too busy to realize was there. The alcohol broke the dam and led to hours of drinking with Leonard and Sergio.

Hope made up the rollaway bed Susan loaned her. “There, this corner makes a nice little nook for Betsy.” She glanced in the children’s room. “Aren’t you finished sweeping, Marty? Billy set the table.” Looking at the clock, she said, “It’s almost six, wonder what’s taking your daddy so long.” “I don’t know.” Billy reached for the plates. “He probably got tied up talking to somebody; you know how he loves to get into some long story. Want me to dish up the chili, Mom, I’m hungry?” “Okay, I guess you and Marty can go ahead. I’ve got some left over mashed potatoes and peas for Dove.” Hope pulled out the leftovers from the icebox and warmed them. “Marty, bring Dove and put her in the highchair.” As the boys ate, Hope guided Dove’s attempts to spoon her supper. Marty said, “Is Betsy going to be here for Dove’s birthday on Thursday?” “I hope so, she didn’t say. She might just stay for the week-end.” Her eyes drifted toward the clock. A familiar nervousness crept across her shoulders and oozed into her stomach. “Do you boys have homework?” Marty said, “It’s Friday, Mom. We have all week-end to get it done.” “No, you don’t have all week-end. We meet Betsy at the bus station at noon tomorrow and you won’t have time to do it later. Tonight is the best opportunity you have, so after supper I want you to hop to it—you hear?” Billy scraped the last spoonful from his bowl. “Can we take her to the matinee tomorrow, it’s Yankee Doodle Dandy. With a name like that, it oughta be good.” His mother’s thoughts were elsewhere. “We’ll see.” She lifted Dove from her highchair. “Set your bowls in the sink, I’ll wash them later. Get to your homework while I bathe Dove.”

Hope sat up in bed trying to concentrate on Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, but worry kept making circles around the page. She put the book aside and slipped on her robe and slippers. The stairway was dark as a tomb. I’ve got to see about putting up a light in here. She held the railing and made her way down carefully. The back door was locked, so was the front. Sitting on the edge of one of the display windows, out of sight, she gazed out into midnight darkness. Lord Jesus, it’s been a long while since Winn has gotten drunk. Maybe he’s not even drinking, maybe he’s hurt, maybe someone didn’t like his editorial and beat him up. Please bring him home. She was halfway up the stairs when she heard a rattle at the front door. Running toward the noise, she saw Winn fumbling in his pocket for the key. When she opened the door, a car at the curb slowly pulled away. She caught him as he fell forward. “Winn, oh Winn, you smell like a mangy dog, soaked in liquor. Ugh.” He groaned and stood upright with the help of the door frame. “Oh, hi, Su-uugar. Jus’ been cele…hic…bratin’ with…” “I don’t care who you were drinking with, Winn. You look and smell disgusting. My Lord, how could you pull a stunt like this?” He staggered in and leaned on the counter while Hope went on. “I didn’t know if you were lying in a cotton field or in a back alley somewhere and Betsy will be here tomorrow.” “I went to sle-ep at Sergeeeo’s. Ohh, noo.” He stumbled toward the wastebasket and threw up. Feisty as all get out, Hope didn’t make a move toward him. “See what I mean— you’re disgusting. ed out at Sergio’s is closer to the truth. You stay out without a thought of me and the kids, and then you come in here looking like something the cat dragged in, and expect me to clean up your vomit.” Billy had slipped out of bed and stood in the back shop, listening until his heart was too heavy-laden to hear anymore. His bare feet silently carried him back to bed where Marty was sleeping soundly. Winn wiped his mouth on his shirt. “Hope, I jus’ …” “You just got drunk and you’ll just sleep on the floor down here for all I care right now.” She whirled around, ran through the shop, and up the stairs, shutting the door behind her. I wish it had a lock. She grabbed a kitchen chair and leaned

it under the doorknob. Oh, Jesus, am I supposed to endure his drinking forever? Breathing hard, Hope plopped on the bed. Winn’s body swayed as he made his way to the desk. He sat with his head cradled in his crossed arms on the desk ink blotter. Sleep came as quickly as his eyes closed. Anger kept sleep at bay for Hope and then it came in fits and starts as she tossed side to side. Dove had the grace to end her mother’s restless night. Hope jumped up, ready to get Winn upstairs before the boys woke. Removing the chair, she opened the door to find him sitting at the top of the stairs. “Did you sit there all night?” Pulling himself up with the stair rail, he said, “No, I’ve just been here a few minutes. I didn’t want to wake the kids, so I didn’t bang on the door when it didn’t open. I thought maybe you nailed a board across it.” “Shh, if that’s meant to be funny—it’s not. Go to the bathroom and get cleaned up. I’ll make coffee.” He gave her a grateful smile which she didn’t return. At the breakfast table, Billy seemed sullen. He studied Winn, and then his eyes drifted away when his daddy looked at him. Although, Winn felt like a bag of lead type was balanced on his head, he attempted bright conversation. “I see you have the bed all ready for Betsy. When will she be here?” Marty said, “She’ll be coming ‘round the mountain at noon and we’ll be there with bells on. That right, Mom?” “I don’t know about the bells or the mountain, but we’ll be there.” She stood and gathered the dishes. “Go make your bed, Marty.” “It’s Billy’s bed, too. Why can’t he make it?” Exasperation pulled at her composure. “Because I asked you.” She looked at Billy. “You said you wanted to practice the linotype. I wrote Mrs. Hawkins report of the Home Demonstration Club meeting and put it in the copy basket. This morning might be a good time for you to type it before your daddy needs to set his column.” Winn met her eyes, they blazed with disdain. Lacking his usual excitement about working on the linotype, Billy pushed away

from the table. “Sure.” He gave Winn a parting glance of contempt. Hope’s and Billy’s scorn penetrated Winn’s aching head. “I’ll be down in a minute, Son, if you need help.” Billy headed down the stairs. “I don’t need any help.”

One moment of yielding to temptation brings many moments of condemnation—self as well as those closest to us.

25

B etsy waved from the open window near the back of the bus, glowing with excitement. Billy exclaimed, “There she is!” He ran to the door before the driver parked directly in front of the Highway 77 Texaco station. Scurrying to the window, Hope grabbed her sister’s hand. Her eyes watered with joyful tears. “Oh, Betsy, I’m so happy to see you.” Marty acted surprised. “That’s not her. Betsy’s a little girl.” Betsy laughed—a glorious, infectious laugh. “Not any more, Marty. And you’re not a little boy anymore. Oh, I can’t wait to hug you, Hope, and that baby.” She gathered her purse and suitcase from the overhead bin. Billy waited until most of the engers filed off the bus before jumping on and meeting her in the aisle. “Hi, Aunt Betsy.” She smothered him with a hug before he took her bag. “Here, let me take this.” Chatter tumbled with questions, answers, and comments in Jenkins Jiffy Cab. Betsy said, “Everybody sends their love.” She held Dove on her knees so she could look into her face. “You sweet thang, Mama would just love to hug ya to pieces. She looks just like you, Marty.” “What? She can’t look like me, she’s a girl.” Betsy grabbed his face under the chin and squeezed his cheeks. “Like it or not, your little sister has your big brown eyes.” She looked at Billy in the front seat. “And you’re looking more like your handsome daddy, Billy.” Hope noticed a flash cross his brow, before he faced forward. Hope said, “Well that’s a fine note, no one looks like me.” “Oh, they all look like you in one way or another, Hope.” Betsy nudged her shoulder.

Mr. Jenkins stopped and twisted around to look at them. “Here we are and I might say y’all sure brightened my day. Not everybody I tote around is happy now-a-days, don’t ya know.” Nursing a hangover, Winn was proof reading at the front desk. When he saw the cab at the curb, he went out to meet them. “This can’t be Betsy. You picked up the wrong girl, Alfred.” Speaking around his plug of tobacco, Jenkins said, “Well, this here’s the one they drug off the bus. Guess they grabbed her ‘cause she’s so purty.” There was Betsy’s laugh again as she stood on tippy toes and threw her arms around Winn’s neck. “It’s wonderful to see you, Winn. I’ve missed you.” “Okay, I guess you’re really Betsy all grown up. I don’t think I’m able to swing you around like I used to though.” She playfully slapped his arm. “You probably could, but I won’t let you—I’d get dizzy and stagger around like a drunk.” Billy looked quickly at his daddy. Winn saw the look, but laughed and handed Jenkins payment for the cab ride. “Thanks, Alfred, for bringing us this ray of sunshine.” Inside the building, Betsy stood in iration of the office supply store and fixtures. Marty said, “Mom and I built the counter and shelves.” “He just handed her the nails. Mom did it all,” said Billy. “You’re just like Mama, Hope. She still makes wicker furniture out of willows from the river bank. I wouldn’t even know how to attempt to make a counter like this. Everything is so much grander than I expected.” Billy, still holding the suitcase, steered Betsy toward the back shop. “I can run the linotype now.” Marty said, “Come upstairs, Aunt Betsy, and see where Mom made a space for you with a bed and table, even a lamp if you want to read.” Winn stayed downstairs while the rest of them went to the living quarters.

Strands of happy reunion talk drifted through the building to the desk where he sat. He buried his face in his hands. Little Betsy, she’s always been outgoing, so inquisitive and sweet. I hope she never finds out about my drinking. Billy is putout with me right now. God, why can’t I be strong? But I was cornered; I couldn’t have refused to celebrate with Leonard and Sergio. The excuse sounded feeble even to him. He ran his fingers through his hair which was introducing new growth of gray at his temples. Hope had prepared a noon meal of sliced chicken sandwiches, deviled eggs, lemonade, and freshly baked oatmeal cookies. Betsy sat at the table holding Dove. “All this must’ve used up a lot of your rations, Hope. Please don’t go to so much trouble for me.” Billy said, “We’re lucky. We get a whole ration book for Dove and she doesn’t eat much.” Betsy squeezed Dove. “God had a purpose for you, Little Darlin’, you came just in time to get more food for your family.” Joy overtook Hope’s anger from the night before. “That’s the way we felt, she’s already helping out the way the boys do.” “I’m learning the business,” said Billy. “Pop gets ads and news, he writes editorials, sets type, and runs the press. Mom does everything and Marty…uh, Marty keeps watch over Dove—sometimes.” Climbing the stairs, Winn heard them. “That’s it in a nutshell, Billy, you’re right about Mom—she oversees everything from stem to stern to stew.” Marty said, “Hey, Betsy, wanna go to the picture show with us? They’re playing Yankee Doodle Dandy. I saw the previews; it’s a lot of singin’ and dancin’.” Betsy reached over to pat Marty’s shoulder. “Thank you, Marty, but I would like to visit with your mama. Maybe I can go with you some other time.” “Oh, okay, you can have popcorn or candy if you go with us. Can you stay for Dove’s birthday? She’s gonna be a year old Thursday.” “I didn’t realize her birthday was this week. I didn’t intend to say that long, but we’ll see.”

Later, Winn returned to work, the boys went to the movie, and Dove took her nap. Hope and Betsy finally settled down to a cozy visit on the sagging horsehair couch. Hope took a sip of her coffee and cocked her head in quizzical fashion. “So tell me what’s going on, Betsy.” Setting her cup on the scratched coffee table, Betsy sighed. “I just don’t want to make a mistake, Hope. Augie asked me to marry him.” She twisted a hanky. “It’s hard for me to trust anyone after Dudley said he loved me. And then when I turned him down, he tricked Pearl into thinking he loved her just to get back at me. That was so hurtful to me and to Pearl. She says she’s accepted my forgiveness, but I think deep in her heart she hasn’t forgiven herself for being so gullible.” Hope rubbed Betsy’s arm. “I hope Pearl can let that go, and you need to realize not every boy is like Dudley. Do you love Augie?” She nodded and sniffed. Her eyes sprouted tears. “I do love him and want to be sure he loves me. Oh, Hope, I know I’m being silly. Augie has never done anything to make me doubt him and he’s a good man and has a good job with the highway department. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” A deluge of tears brought her head to her hands. Hope held her in her arms. “Betsy, nothing is wrong with you. Look at me.” She put her hand under Betsy’s chin and smiled as their eyes met. “You’re the smartest, kindest, most sensitive young lady I know. Marriage is a life-long commitment and you’re right to seek the Lord and think it through to be sure. It hasn’t been that long since Mrs. Sloane died, you’re still grieving over her. That’s another reason you’re so emotional.” “I think of her every day.” Betsy twisted the limp hanky again. “I was her companion for a long time.” Sniff. “I loved her like a grandmother.” “Well, sorrow has a way of dragging us down and making our mind cloudy. Decision making is difficult enough without dealing with the loss of someone you love. It was wise of you to step back where you can get a good perspective of your life and if you want to spend it with Augie.” Betsy wiped tears from her cheeks. “I guess that’s what I’m doing. I knew if I

spent a few days with you and Winn I could figure out what I want in a marriage. You two are so happy.” Hope gently let go of Betsy and dropped her hands to her lap. “Betsy, there are many sides to a marriage. Sometimes things aren’t always rosy. Private disagreements and disappointments are sure to come.” She sighed heavily and looked at her sister’s young, fresh face. “But if love is strong, a couple can overcome upheavals. Winn and I have gone through some hard times—of course losing Mary Jane was the worst. There were times we couldn’t put much food on the table.” Betsy leaned close to Hope as she continued. “It was a real tough time when he almost lost his leg and we had to live with his mother, who is a hard person to get along with. We lost everything in the hurricane. Things haven’t always been great between Winn and me, but we made a vow to stay together for better or worse, and we’ve stood by each other.” As Hope spoke, love for Winn rose within her. “Through it all, we saw God’s hand upon us. I know our union was the Lord’s plan. He has given us three wonderful children who are blessings beyond words. He’s given us a business that we prayed for.” Thankfulness flourished in these moments of Hope’s ission of enduring love. “Betsy, you have no idea what God has in store for you if you follow His leading. I know you love the Lord, only He can guide you in your decision about Augie. When you pray, if peace settles over you and you feel overwhelming love for Augie, then you’ll know for sure about becoming his wife.” Betsy hugged her sister. “I’m glad I came, I feel much better.” Betsy picked up her cup. Hope stood. “It must be cold by now. I’ll get us some fresh coffee.” She took Betsy’s cup and grabbed her own from the table. “You want to go with us to church in the morning?” “Yes, I brought my best dress.” “Good, and after church we usually have dinner with Winn’s mother and brother, Eddie. I have to warn you, it may not be pleasant, but it will be interesting.” Handing Betsy a hot cup of coffee, Hope had a crooked smile.

Recalling God’s grace, goodness, and guidance, revives love for the one He gave you to share it with.

26

S unday morning, Winn opted to finish a printing job while the rest of the family attended church. “Y’all go on over to Mother’s from church and I’ll meet you there for dinner.” After the service, Marty started out carrying Dove, but Betsy took her from him. “Here, let me carry you, Little Missy.” She couldn’t resist giving the baby a squeeze. “I like your pastor, Hope, he gave a good message. When I read a Bible story or hear it, I like to picture it happening around me. When he talked about Jesus visiting Martha and Mary, I imagined Him sitting on the front porch back home.” Hope smiled at the vision Betsy’s words created. “I can see Jesus there, talking to Mama.” Betsy’s face beamed. “Can’t you just imagine how Mama would love a visit from our Savior? I know Jesus would feel right at home on her cane settee.” Billy kicked a rock along the sidewalk. “If Grandma is listening to Jesus, is somebody fixing dinner?” With a sigh, Betsy said, “I’m afraid that would be me, Billy. I’d be so worried about having everything perfect for Jesus that I’d be distracted like Martha was.” Hope sighed, “I’d most likely be like Martha also, fussing around while Mama is comfortable in the presence of Jesus. She knows He accepts us as we are and we don’t have to impress Him with our pitiful little efforts. Marty said, “There’s Grandmother’s house, Betsy. I can’t picture Jesus visiting with her. She wouldn’t listen to a thing He had to say. She’d probably tell Him to take off His sandals and wipe His feet before walking on her living room rug.” “That’s a terrible thing to say, Marty.” Hope said. Billy said, “Terrible but true.”

On the walk home from Priscilla’s house, the crisp fall air was an astringent after strained dinner conversation. Betsy was cool as a refreshing breeze above the barbs of Winn’s mother. She withstood Priscilla’s negativity with grace—the epitome of Beth in Louisa Alcott’s Little Women. Avoiding a comment about Priscilla, Betsy looked at Winn. “Your brother is very kind—like you, Winn. I can tell he thinks the world of you—all of you.” Dove seemed to enjoy the outing in her daddy’s arms with a light blanket tucked around her. He said, “Yes, Eddie is a good Christian man and extremely patient with Mother. Eddie’s been a blessing to us.” Billy said, “Mom, can Mart and I head on over to Randy’s? He said he wanted to get a ball game going.” “Okay…” They took off running. “But get home before dark, you hear?” They waved. Betsy said, “Those boys have grown like sunflowers after summer rains.” She giggled. “I heard Mama say that once about Iris’s boys. But Billy and Marty are so nice looking.” Her eyes grew large. “Oh, not that Iris’s boys aren’t nice looking, it’s just that—well in a different way.” Hope put an arm around her sister’s waist. “Betsy girl, you couldn’t say an unkind thing about anyone.” They laughed and walked in step. As shadows lengthened with the setting sun, Hope set the table. “Betsy, call Winn for me, please. Tell him supper is almost ready.” She looked out the large window facing the vacant lot. “The boys should be here… oh no.” Betsy hurried to the window. “What’s wrong?” Hope dashed toward the stairway. “Dear Jesus, Marty is leaning on Randy and it looks like Billy has a bloody rag or something on his forehead!” Betsy said, “Who’s forehead?” “His forehead!” Hope dashed down the stairs with Betsy close behind. Running through the shop, she yelled, “Winn, I think one of the boys is hurt!”

The rollers on Winn’s chair spun away from the Linotype. The three of them met Randy, Marty, and Billy. Marty was albino white, Randy steadied him. Billy held a bloody tee shirt to his head. Winn said, “What happened?” “Let me see.” Hope’s hands shook as she got a look at Billy’s bloody forehead. Betsy said, “Come inside to the light.” Hope guided Billy into the shop. He said, “Ah, it’s okay, Mom, just a scratch.” Winn put an arm around Marty. “What’s wrong with you?” “Nothing.” There was a note of embarrassment in Marty’s voice. Billy said, “You know how he is around blood, Pop.” “It’s all my fault.” Randy’s mouth quivered with boyish guilt. “He was chasing me and about to catch me, so I stopped real quick and bent over so he’d somersault on top of me and then I was going to run the other way.” Marty said, “It would’ve worked too, but Billy fell smack dab on a broken bottle.” It was obvious the thought of the outcome made him feel faint again. Betsy grabbed his arm. Hope said, “Sit on this stool, Billy.” She held his head back and examined the gash. The others, all except Marty, squeezed in to assess the damage. Avoiding the cut, she wiped hair from his forehead. Billy grimaced. “I’ll get a clean cloth,” Betsy said. “Are there any in the bathroom down here?” Marty sped away. “I know where they are.” “I’m really sorry, Billy.” Randy took a backward step and shoved his hands in his pockets. Winn said, “You couldn’t have known about the bottle, Randy. It was an accident.” Taking a closer look at the flap of skin and open cut, Winn headed for the phone. “I’ll call Doctor Peters.” Hope took the dampened cloth from Marty, and inspected the cut again. “Just let

me get some of this dried blood off your face, Billy.” He flinched. A few moments later, Winn stepped away from the phone. “The doctor is on his way.” Winn put an arm around Randy’s shoulders. “Thank you, Randy for helping them home. There’s no need for you to stay and don’t feel bad, you boys were just playing.” “Okay, Mr. Prichard—sure sorry. I hope the cut isn’t too bad.” Randy looked back at Billy. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow, if you feel like going. So long.” “So long, Randy. I’ll be okay, it’s not your fault.”

Supper was quite late after Dr. Peters finished putting three stitches just above Billy’s left eyebrow. Marty said, “If it leaves a scar, you’ll look a gangster in the movies, Billy.” “I don’t need any cracks from you, Wart.” Billy looked at the table for a moment. “Mom, can I go lie down, I don’t feel like eating.” Hope’s features formed a concerned look. “You should have something in your stomach, Billy.” Betsy said, “I’ll fix you a bowl of milk toast, that’s what Mama does when we don’t feel good.” Before he could answer, she got the milk out of the icebox and looked for a pot. “Well, okay, Aunt Betsy, if you want too.” Billy really didn’t want it, though he loved milk toast. He went to his bed while the rest of the family sat at the table and ate. Betsy made toast and buttered it. “Do you have cinnamon, Hope?” Hope pointed to the cabinet containing seasonings. “Any raisins?” Hope shook her head. “That’s okay, it’s good anyway.” Betsy sprinkled the buttered toast with cinnamon and sugar, tore it into chunks and placed them in a bowl. She poured hot milk over the toast, took it to Billy, and sat on the side of the bed while he ate.

“This is good, thanks for making it for me. I didn’t think I was hungry.” “If you didn’t eat, you’d get hungry before morning and scrounge around in the kitchen like a little mouse.” She studied his eyes. “Don’t worry about a scar, Billy, you’re so nice looking, people won’t focus on anything but how you treat them and your wonderful smile.” She tilted her head to peer at his downcast face. “That is—when you smile.” He gave a feeble grin and lowered his eyes. “I’m not worried about a scar. Guess I have been a little grumpy the last few days. I’ve got something on my mind.” She took his bowl and set it on the bedside table. “Can you tell me about it?” Billy leaned back on his pillow; his eyes searched the darkness out the window. After a moment, he said, “What do you do when somebody you love hurts you and hurts somebody else you love?” His words brought back the memory of Dudley attempting to make her jealous, by convincing Pearl that he wanted to marry her and tried to take her to a hotel. She leaned close to Billy and brushed strands of hair away from the bandage. “A few years ago, someone I cared about hurt me and someone I love. It’s painful, but I knew I had to forgive that person. I couldn’t hold bitterness in my heart; it would only cause the hurt to grow and make me sick. I realized I couldn’t change that person, only pray for him. Forgiving is what I had to do, and I could only do that with the help of the Lord.” Marty bounded into the room. “Aunt Betsy, are you going to stay for Dove’s birthday Thursday?” Betsy patted Billy’s shoulder and smiled at Marty. “I’d love to.” In the next few days the family bonded even closer than before. Betsy helped Hope stock the shelves with a shipment of office supplies. She prepared meals and took care of Dove while Hope worked in the shop. On press night, Betsy folded newspapers.

Thursday afternoon, October 22, 1942 —

Hope took two cake pans out of the oven. Betsy sat at the table with a glass of iced tea. “Hope, I can’t tell you how much this visit has meant to me.” Hope set the pans on the counter to cool. She reached for a glass and poured from the pitcher of tea. Sitting at the table, she said, “It’s meant the world to me, Betsy. You brought a bit of home. I loved having you here, you’ve been so helpful.” She took a sip. “How are you feeling about Augie? Do you think you’re ready to accept his proposal?” “I’ve prayed every night asking the Lord to give me peace about marriage to Augie and if it’s His plan for me. It’s amazing how good I feel now. I can’t wait to see him tomorrow and tell him yes.” Susan’s voice floated up the stairway. “Betsy, there’s a phone call for you.” “For me?” Betsy pushed her chair back and hurried down the stairs.

Later, Dove sat in her highchair with chocolate icing on her face, digging her hands into the cake on her plate. Billy said, “Dovey, you’re supposed feed your face, not smear your face.” Betsy wiped Dove with a napkin. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Sweetheart. It’s your cake; you can put it on your face if you want to.” Eddie said, “That’s right, she will only have a f-first birthday once.” “Leave it on, Aunt Betsy.” Marty laughed. “She looks like one of those black face Minstrel Players.” Betsy leaned toward Marty and swiped her chocolatey napkin on his face, leaving icing on his nose. Her giggle was devious. “There—you look just like Dove, I said you did, Smarty Pants.” Marty broke into a grin as he wiped his nose and licked his finger. Winn chuckled. “We’re going to miss you, Betsy. You really liven up the place.”

“I’m going to miss all of you, but I’m homesick for Mama and Papa, and Pearl too. I’ll be glad to see Augie and plan our wedding. He sounded so lonesome when he called today.” Her eyes glistened. “This visit with all of you has been wonderful. I hope Augie and I will be as happy as you two and we have children as sweet as yours.” Hope gave Winn a sideways glance. They hadn’t discussed his night of drinking. She said, “I hope you’ll be even happier with a houseful of young’uns.” She stood to slice a piece of cake to send home with Eddie for Priscilla.

Early the next morning, the boys carried Betsy’s suitcase. They piled into the taxi with their mother and Betsy for the ride to the depot. Winn stayed with sleeping Dove. After prolonged hugs, Betsy said, “Thank you for such a wonderful visit. And I’ll enjoy this bag of goodies you packed for my trip home, Hope.” As the bus pulled away from the filling station depot, Betsy waved from the window. Hope pressed a hanky to her eyes. On the way home, Billy asked Hope, “Why so sad, Mom?” She smiled and glanced at the clean bandage on his forehead that she had changed that morning. “Oh, I guess I’m sad because I’m going to miss her and her visit made me homesick for Mama and Papa.” Marty said, “Don’t you know women cry about everything, Billy? in the movies how mothers cry when their sons come home from the war, they always get all mushy.”

Tears cried for joy or sorrow both wash emotions to the surface. Wipe away the sad tears, but allow the happy ones to mingle with laughter.

27

L ooking in the bathroom mirror, Hope frowned and brushed her hair vigorously. Winn peeked around the open door. “What’s the matter, Shug?” “Oh, Beulah at the Beauty Box got my hair so tight with that permanent wave I can’t do a thing with it.” She threw the brush in the sink and turned to face him. “I’ll have to wear a hat the entire time I’m at Mama’s for Thanksgiving.” Hope fought the cloud behind her eyes that wanted to burst in a downpour of tears. He reached out to hug her. She squirmed away. “I still smell like that stinky wave lotion and feel just as bad.” She turned toward the mirror again. “Look at me, my head is full of coils.” It took great effort not to laugh. “Sugar, it’s not that bad. So what if it’s curly or coily, it’ll be fine when it grows out a little.” Hope whisked past him with a wave of her hands. “Oh, fine, make jokes.” She went to the kitchen cupboard and slammed a pan on the stove. “I wish Beulah wouldn’t have talked me into this permanent in trade for her ad.” Winn stood helpless in the doorway. She looked at him and the cloud of tears burst. “I haven’t seen Mama and them for over a year and wanted to look nice when we go.” She allowed him to put consoling arms around her. He rubbed her back. “You know good and well, everyone will be so glad to see you, they wouldn’t care if you were bald.” Marty bounded up the stairs, breathless from running. He stopped when he saw Hope. “Jeepers, Mom, what happened to your hair?” Surprise walloped him smack in the face when he realized she had been crying. He rarely saw his mother sad. Winn, standing behind her, shook his head, giving signals he hoped Marty picked up on. Marty said, “Uh, it looks nice—so curly and all.” Her hands flew to each side of her head. “See, Winn, I told you it’s awful, just awful.”

Marty stepped closer. “No it isn’t, Mom. I was just surprised. You’re the prettiest Mom I ever saw—honest.” A smile forced itself across her lips to see Marty trying to dance around his first reaction and then scramble to retract it. “All right, I’m not going to worry about it. I’ll greet the folks in Hempstead like I don’t care a whit about my hair.” She turned to prepare supper and mumbled. “I just won’t look in the mirror until next year.” Winn and Marty exchanged looks and shrugged their shoulders. Marty dashed back down the stairs to catch Billy before he saw their mother. “Billy, don’t say a word about Mom’s hair.” Billy set the composing stick on the type case. “Why?” “She got it all frizzed, it looks like she stuck her finger in a light socket and the electricity fried her hair.” “I saw her when she came in from the beauty shop. I didn’t think it looked so bad.” Marty’s mouth dropped open. “Christopher Columbus, Billy, you need glasses. Anyway, don’t say anything, okay?” Winn came down the stairs. “Billy, don’t mention anything about your mother’s hair.” Billy tilted his head. “Wow, it must be pretty bad.” “It’s not as bad as she feels about it,” Winn said. “Not quite anyway.”

The Prichard family boarded the bus early Thanksgiving morning. After working all night to get the paper out, Winn slept all the way to Hempstead. Delbert and his three boys met them at Butch’s filling station in his farm wagon. The boys pitched all the bags in the wagon. Billy and Marty jumped in with Arlon, Jonas, and Woodrow. Hope, with Dove on her lap, sat on the seat between Delbert and Winn. Clip,

clopping slowly through the quiet streets of her hometown, Hope said, “I just can’t get over how your boys have grown, Delbert.” He nodded, “Yep.” His response brought memories to Winn of how difficult it is to make conversation with Iris’s husband. “Have you and Iris been making out all right on the farm?” Fifteen-year-old Arlon spoke up from the back. “We’ve been doin‘ okay, Uncle Winn. We can sell our crops for cash or exchange them at Barley’s Grocery for stuff we can’t raise. Mama’s hogs are looking nice and fat for slaughter come next week.” Delbert said, “Yep.”

Mama and Iris waited at the gate and yelled greetings as the wagon rolled up. They practically pushed Delbert aside to get to Dove. Mama said, “Give me that baby, oh, God love her.” Hope thought Dove would be frightened with a stranger grabbing her, but Dove went right into her grandmother’s arms as if she saw her every day. Iris gave Hope a body squashing hug, pressing her sister against her rotund body that had become the same shape as Mama’s. Betsy let the rusty screen door slam, leaped over the porch steps, and ran toward Hope. It was a game of who do I hug next for Mama, Iris, Betsy, Hope, and Winn. Papa and Pearl waited on the porch. Delbert began unloading the bags. Arlon said, “Leave Billy’s and Marty’s stuff here, Daddy.” He turned to Billy, “You’re going to spend the night with us.” Billy laughed. “That’s great, Arlon, I haven’t seen you in so long, I forgot how ugly you are.” He dodged a swat from his cousin by jumping off the wagon. Arlon chased him, but stopped when Billy out maneuvered him by wrapping his arms around Octavia who was still holding Dove. “Hi, Grandma. I missed you.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Billy, I’ll soon have to stand on tip toe to kiss you.”

Marty picked up little Woodrow and held him over the side of the wagon. “Hey, you bugger, where did you get such big ears?” The youngster’s feet ran in mid-air. “I’ll box yours if you don’t let me down.” “Hot dog,” said Jonas, “This is gonna be fun.” As they made their way to the porch, the hugging ring around the rosy started again with Pearl and Papa. He said, “I figured I’d stay on the porch, ‘cause Tave would push me outta the way to get to y’all first anyhow.” Hope lingered with her embrace. “Papa, it’s so good to be here.” “What’d ya do to your hair, Sugar?” She jerked her head up to look into her daddy’s mustached face. “Oh…ohh.” Exasperated, Hope hurried into the house with maddening desire to put a sack over her head. Hollis gave Winn a puzzled look. Winn shook his father-in-law’s hand and said, “She’s been a little upset since she got a permanent wave.” Octavia and the girls filed into the house and found Hope sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Mama, I’m just disappointed in the way my hair looks.” Mama handed Dove to Iris and sat by Hope. “Sugar, Papa don’t know what’s stylish. He just never saw your hair so curly.” She put her arm around Hope. “It looks fine and brings out your purty eyes. Now don’t fret over it. I have a turkey all ready to slice and fixin’s on the stove.” She pressed her lips against Hope’s temple. “We’re gonna have a fine time.” Augie, Betsy’s intended, ed them for dinner and so did Pearl’s friend, Hershel. The young men were quite a contrast in appearance and manner. Hope was taken aback with Hershel since she was unaware Pearl had a beau. He appeared as nervous as a treed coon. Hope could see he was dirt-underfingernails poor. Ordinarily, her heart would have gone out to him, but his unfriendly demeanor prevented it. Hershel and Pearl hung back, staying to themselves. Several times, Hope noticed Papa glaring at them. Augie on the other hand, presented himself as one eager to make a good

impression. Outgoing and courteous, his actions spoke of his respectful adoration of Betsy.

Later, after sweet potato pie, the family huddled on the porch with sweaters and jackets. The air was cool, but a smidgen of sunlight dappled the sky enough to make the outdoors pleasant. Billy and Marty slipped back into their childhood antics of hiding, chasing, and challenging their cousins. With a full tummy, Dove immediately went to sleep on the feather bed in the front room. Mama reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Hope, Fayella sent us a letter and I want you to read it to everybody.” “Okay, Mama.” Hope reached for it and unfolded the crinkled edges. Looking around at her family, her eyes were met with expectation. She studied the neat handwriting before reading out loud.

“Dear Ones,

I’m sorry I can’t be with you this year. Buford and I always looked forward to our Thanksgivings with all of you. Our truck barely gets me to town and back for supplies. I’m sure glad I have it though since we sold the roadster. I get a letter from Buford every few weeks or so, but most of it is censored with black ink and even sections cut out. I’m always relieved when I receive word in his own hand, though. He’s out in the Pacific Ocean somewhere operating one of those vessels that carry tanks and men to the beaches where there’s fighting. I’m glad he isn’t one of the men on his craft that face the enemy. But I know he’s in constant danger of being bombed. Of course I pray for him every time of think of him, which is often. I’m also praying for this war to be over so he can come home and work on the farm, you know how much he loves it. I sure wish I could see all our handsome nephews, I imagine they have grown so

much that I would hardly know them. And my heart aches to hold that baby girl. I think Dove is about the sweetest name I ever heard. There’s not much more news from around here. Daddy and my brothers are a great help to me, I couldn’t keep the farm up without them. I send my love to you all and if it’s the Lord’s will for the war to be over by next Thanksgiving, I hope Buford and I can make it there to you in giving thanks to Jesus for all He’s done. You’re the best cook anywhere, Mama. And Papa, I hope you’re still making those unusual walking canes.

Love, Fayella

All five boys stopped their play when they heard Hope reading the letter. They sat on the porch steps. Billy said, “I bet it’s scary out there on the ocean with all the fighting going on all around Uncle Buford.” Octavia wiped a tear away with the hem of her apron. Iris, sitting beside her on the settee, put an arm around her mother. Hope said, “We need to continue praying for his safety and we also need to ask the Lord to take fear away and give him peace.” Hushed reverence settled over the group. Abruptly, Hershel stood and said, “I gotta be goin’.” He stepped off the porch and headed along the dirt path to the gate without a thank you or acknowledgement to anyone. Pearl jumped up and followed him. They whispered outside the gate until Papa couldn’t stand it any longer. “Come on back here, Pearl.” She looked impatiently at Papa. Hershel turned to go and Pearl slowly walked back. “Papa, you didn’t have to yell at me and be so rude to Hershel.” Winn couldn’t help himself; he leaned forward and looked like he wanted to shake Pearl. “Rude? I have to say, Pearl, that boy was rude and disrespectful the entire time he was here. I hope you don’t plan to see him again.” He looked at

Octavia and Hollis. “I…I guess I overstepped my bounds, sorry.” Hollis stood like a bull elephant ready to stampede. “No, Winn, that’s what I was gonna say.” The boys on the steps scattered as Hollis headed off the porch and grabbed Pearl’s arm. “Pearly Mae, that was the ugliest acting feller I ever saw and hope to never see the likes of him again. You hear me?” He let her go and she ran to the back yard, crying. Betsy slipped her hand around Augie’s arm and squeezed. They locked eyes, his was fearful, and hers were concerned. Hope saw the exchange and ed how Papa balked against Winn after his first visit although Winn was nothing like Hershel. “Papa, come sit and calm down, I hate to see you so upset. I’m sure Pearl was aware of Hershel’s bad manners and is embarrassed.” She looked at Augie. “Mama has told me how you asked Papa for Betsy’s hand and they’re very pleased you’re going to be part of the family, Augie.” A welcome shower of relief washed over him, it shone on his face. “Thank you, Ma’am. I sure hope I measure up to merit the family’s approval.” He watched Hollis’s large frame plop in his cane chair. Mama said, “You’re a fine boy, Augie. We’re right proud about you and Betsy gettin’ married. I’m prayin’ Pearl finds a good husband like Iris and Hope have.” Delbert meandered toward the gate. Iris said, “Well, Betsy, I reckon Delbert’s ready to get on home. If you’re comin’ with us for the night, we better get on the wagon. I’ll round up the boys—and Pearl.” She gave Mama and Hope a quick hug and patted Papa’s shoulder. “We’ll see y’all tomorrow.” She carefully navigated her hefty stature down the porch steps and looked back. “Glad you came, Augie.” Augie had been standing by Betsy’s chair since Iris got up to leave. “My pleasure, Miss Iris.” He turned to Betsy. “I’ll see you at church Sunday. I’ll be working on the highway toward Brenham tomorrow and Saturday.” Pearl was sullen, ignoring everyone as she climbed in the back of the wagon with her bag for the night. Iris, Betsy, and the boys waved as the wagon slowly lumbered away. Augie remained for a while until a chill closed in and forced all of them to vacate the porch. He faced Winn and Hope. “It certainly is a pleasure meeting you, Betsy ires you both a great deal.”

Winn and Hope shook his hand. “I don’t know if we can be here for the wedding,” Hope said. “But I’m very happy for you both and if the Lord is at the center of your marriage, you’ll have a wonderful life together.” Winn said, “Congratulations, Augie. Betsy’s a fine young lady and you’ll be part of a good family. Mama and Papa have been like my own parents.”

In the bed where Hope used to sleep with her sisters, she snuggled next to Winn. “After reading Fayella’s letter, I feel so ashamed of myself for letting my hairdo get the best of me. She’s got the world on her shoulders worrying about Buford and trying to keep the farm together until he gets back. Fayella longs for a baby. And look at me…I’m so blessed with you by my side, I have three children, and I’ve been making a fuss about something as trite as my hair.” “Sugar, we all need to express disappointment as well as pleasure, it keeps the blood flowing to the brain so we can sort things out.” Darkness covered his teasing smile. “If we keep our thoughts bottled up, it jams the bodily functions.” “You just made that up. I used to be gullible, but I’m on to your tricks now.” She kissed his neck; it was as close to his lips she could reach with as little effort as possible. “Thank you for not laughing at me.” She yawned. “It’s been a long day.” He ran his hand suggestively over her breasts and across her hips. “Not too long to top it off with some lovin’.” She gasped and whispered. “Not here, Winn. What if Mama and Papa hear us?” He nibbled her ear. “Listen to them. They’re having a snoring contest and so what if they hear us? We’ve been married over fourteen years.” His kiss blew her reservations away.

When we see another’s time of heartache and pain, it reveals we have little reason to moan and complain.

28

E asing out of bed early, Hope closed the bedroom room behind her. “I thought you’d be up, Mama. I hoped we’d have some time alone.” “Good morning, Sugar. Praise be to the Lord for His goodness.” Her Bible was open on the kitchen table beside a cup of coffee. The familiar scene was a comforting vignette etched in Hope’s memory of her mother. Being in the kitchen with the aroma of biscuits and a fragrance of God’s presence surrounding Mama would unfold throughout Hope’s life. “Dove and Winn are still sleeping. I’ll get a cup of coffee and you, I miss our little visits.” “I was hoping you’d get up early enough to come in the kitchen. Tell me all about Taft and how y’all are doing with the paper.” She gave her mother an overview, describing how the people of Woodsboro came to their aid after the hurricane and how God answered their prayers each step of the way in getting settled in Taft. Hope told her so much more than she was able to in letters. Mama said, “It’s a comfort to me how you trust Jesus and know He’s with you always. You’re a blessing, Hope.” Her face clouded. “You’re worried about Pearl aren’t you?” She nodded. “I don’t know where Pearl met that boy. We never heard of Hershel. I reckon he just came to get a good meal. Pearl invited him to show Betsy she has a fella too. That girl has a jealous streak.” “I know, Mama. There’s a deep seeded resentment and I don’t know why. You and Papa have treated all of us the same. You how it was with Iris and me; we had little spats, but got over it. I love Iris so much; I couldn’t stay mad at her. I’ve always felt a bond with my sisters, but it was never like that with Pearl. She seems to stir up things.”

Mama fiddled with her empty cup, turning it round and around. “Pearl brings old hurts up to me, and wants me to take her side. Small things that happened so long ago, it doesn’t amount to a bowl of snap peas. When I remind her of something she did to hurt Betsy, Pearl said it never happened.” Mama’s deep concerns clutched at Hope’s heart. “I guess Pearl thinks we’ll love her more if we’re on the outs with Betsy. That doesn’t make sense, but I don’t have any other answer. If only Pearl could see how it tears you apart.” She looked down at her hands. “I would talk to her, but I’ve tried that before. Her eyes are blind to the fact that there’s a huge wall that’s going to take a lot of forgiving and love to get over for reconciliation. Tearing down the wall would make all of us, most of all Pearl, a lot happier. We’ve all been hurt by Pearl’s resentment.” “Only God can intervene, Jesus can heal and fill her with love for Betsy. We need to take comfort that God knows the long view over our view.” Octavia laid her open hand across the table. Hope held it as her mama prayed. “Lord, Jesus, I praise You this morning and thank You for Hope and her family being here with us. You know what makes our hearts heavy and You told us to bring our burdens and requests to You. That’s what I’m doin’ now, Lord. I ask You to keep a hedge of protection around Buford and give strength to Fayella. I pray for blessings upon Iris and Delbert and their boys. Thank You for sending Augie to Betsy, may they put You first in their life together. Please guide Winn and Hope in every decision in their work and personal life. Give them wisdom to teach their children to love You—and each other. Pearl and her troubles are on my mind, dear Jesus. You are a God of love, only You can change Pearl, please take jealously away from her, give her Your love for Betsy and the rest of us. Let her forgive the past as Betsy has. I give my everlasting thanks to You, in the precious name of Jesus I pray.”

Our prayers run along one road and God’s answers by another, and by and by, they meet.

Adoniram Judson

29

Monday morning —

T he paperboy delivered The Corpus Christi Caller every morning at the front door of the print shop. November 30, 1942 the headline wasn’t about the war; it was about a deadly fire at Boston’s Coconut Grove nightclub. Hope stood at the counter reading the article. “How awful.” Eddie walked to the counter carrying the broom. “W-what is it, Hope?” “There was a terrible fire in Boston Saturday night. It says four hundred and ninety-two people were killed—thirty-two more than the authorized capacity of the building.” Eddie studied the picture. “That looks like a bomb hit it, like in London. T-those poor, poor people—and their families.” Winn breezed in from his daily ritual at the Coffee Cup Café. “Hey, Sugar. Morning, Eddie. Why so glum?” Hope said, “We’re reading about a fire in Boston.” He ed them and scanned the article. “Good heavens, the picture could be in London after a blitz.” “Th-that’s what I said.” Eddie slowly resumed his chore.

Billy stopped at the IGA on the way home from school and picked up a R.C. Cola. He came through the front door of the shop and greeted Susan typing at the desk. “Hi, Mrs. Sims. Are you typing a story for the paper?” She looked up and smiled. “Hello, Billy. Not right now, I’m typing a letter to

Giles. But there’s copy ready for the linotype on the work table, if that’s what you’re looking for.” “Okay. Would you like for me to run get something at the store for you?” He took a sip of his drink. “No, thanks.” She directed her attention to the amiable boy. “How do you like Taft by now, Billy?” “I really like it and I’ve made some good friends already. Next year, I’m going to the band. I want to play the tuba, ‘cause the school has them and we won’t have to buy an instrument.” He made a backward step. “Well, I better see what I can do to help in the back. Tell Mr. Sims I’ll be glad to meet him.” “I will. And I’m glad to hear you like our little town.” Later, Marty leaned his bike by Billy’s on the sidewalk in front of the printing office. “Hiya, Mrs. Sims.” “Hi, Marty. All finished with your paper route?” He shook off his jacket. “Yes ‘um and I’ve got a new joke for ya.” “You have a new one almost every day. What’s this one?” A piano wide grin spread across his freckled face. “Why didn’t the skeleton cross the road?” “Hmm, let’s see. Maybe he just didn’t have the heart to do it?” “Ah, heck, your answer is better than mine, you always have good answers. The skeleton didn’t cross the road because he had no guts.” She burst out laughing. “I think both answers are funny.” Bernice Hawkins swooped in the office and slammed the door. “Young man, you threw the paper so hard, you broke my living room window.” Marty shrunk away. She wagged her finger at him. “Surely you are aware of what you did.” Hope stopped the job press when she glanced up front and saw what appeared to

be an altercation. “What’s the trouble, Mrs. Hawkins?” “Your son broke my window and won’t it it.” Her face looked like a fist as she glared at Marty. “Well, are you guilty or not?” Marty said, “Is there another option?” His mother uttered a shocked intake of breath. “Marty, that’s no way to talk to Mrs. Hawkins. You’re going to march right over to the hardware store and tell Mr. Graves to send someone to fix her window.” Marty slumped. Winn and Billy came from the back shop when Hope’s voice rose to an angry pitch. She went on, “And because of your insolence, you are going to pay for it. Tend to it right now.” Marty’s eyes reluctantly met the woman’s. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hawkins. I didn’t know I broke your window. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I was just trying to make you laugh.” Bernice said. “Humph, I didn’t think it was funny when you broke my window and your manners are not humorous either.” Marty slowly headed for the door. Billy caught up with him. “I’ll go with you, Marty.”

With her printing job finished, Hope took Dove upstairs with her to start supper. Later the boys and Winn came up to eat. Hope stood akimbo and faced Marty. Before she opened her mouth, Billy said, “We went to look at it. It was just cracked.” Marty said, “That’s right, Mom. I just threw her paper, grabbed the next one out of my bag, and kept on going. I didn’t hear anything.” He hung his head. “She didn’t have to make it sound like I smashed her window and didn’t stop to pick up the pieces or nothin’.” Winn stood behind Marty with both hands on his shoulders. “I can understand how it happened. We’ll see how much the repair bill is and help you out with it.” He looked at Hope. “Is that okay with you?”

She held a hand to her forehead for a moment and sighed. “I guess so.”

Hope’s business of offering a selection of greeting cards in the Bosworth Paper Company catalog was a boon to their cash flow during the Christmas season. She kept late hours gift wrapping for folks who had little time or talent for it. As she printed Christmas cards, each one was placed on the worktable to dry and then folded and returned to the box. Her job went faster if someone picked up a few printed cards and moved them to the table so the ink wouldn’t smudge. One of the boys helped her after school or on Saturday, but Eddie had the task otherwise. Mr. Brooks, their landlord, placed a large order of the most expensive cards in the catalog. Hope moved quickly with the rhythm of the job press and stacked the cards precisely so the edge of one didn’t touch the printed part of another. Eddie’s hands shook as he picked up a stack of cards. Suddenly he fumbled and the etched gold foil cards fell in a puddle of oil beside the press. Eddie cried, “Ohh, n-no, oh, Hope.” He awkwardly stooped to pick them up. She stopped the press, her hand flew to her mouth as she saw the lovely cards wet with oil. Seeing how upset Eddie was, she stifled the yell of frustration in her throat and patted his shoulder. “We have time to order another box, Eddie, accidents happen.” His shaking hands held the ruined cards. Eddie’s face flushed red from his receding hairline to his quivering double chin “But the expense of it. Oh your beautiful job, I’m sorry. I-I’ll pay for them.” “Let’s talk about it later, Eddie. Take a break, I can finish up.” His shaking is getting worse, wonder what’s wrong? He needs to see a doctor.

Because of the black-out, no Christmas lights adorned Green Street in the evenings. Tree lights in homes did not shine beyond dark window shades. But there was cheer in the Prichard humble dwelling. Fourteen-month-old Dove delighted in the small tabletop tree decorated with red, blue, and green lights.

She tottered with her new found steps across the wood floor to the table and reached for the unattainable shiny objects high above her. Marty said, “I’m glad you never let us believe in Santa Claus, Mom. We can open our presents on Christmas Eve and don’t have to wait ‘til morning.” Hope smiled. “Some would say you missed out on the excitement of waiting for a jolly old fat man. I think that fairy tale takes our mind away from the real reason we celebrate Christmas. Besides, the eve of our Savior’s birth seems more reverent than rushing around in the morning. With the preparations all done, I enjoy the time together with just the lights of the tree shining on our faces. It’s cozy with my family and a cup of cocoa.” Sitting at the table with his cup of hot chocolate, Winn said, “We were never told about Santa Claus when I was a kid and I don’t think we missed anything.” Billy sat crossed legged by his gift of a model bi-wing airplane kit. “Yeah, it’s better knowing a gift is from y’all rather than believing some fellow in a red suit with flying reindeer brought it.” “Don’t tell Dove about Santa either.” Marty squeezed one of her toys, making it sound like a little mouse. She reached for it and he waved it back and forth to tease her before letting her grab it. “She might get worried about not having a chimney.”

Following what had become tradition, they had Christmas dinner with Priscilla and Eddie. This year, most of the cooking had been done the day before by Priscilla’s housekeeper, Ruby Louse, who was an excellent cook. Eddie met them at the door in a gray sweater with the bottom unbuttoned exposing his red shirt covering his belly pouch. “M-Merry Christmas.” Priscilla said, “Hurry up and close the door. Don’t let the cold air in. My gas bill is high enough.” Winn brought up the rear, holding Dove. She wore a red flannel lined coat and bonnet. Winn said, “Mother, your gas heater is going to use the same amount of gas with the door closed or open.”

“Well I don’t want any heat getting out. What is that Dove is wearing?” Hope said, “It’s the coat I made for her Christmas gift. I had a little trouble with the ruffle on the bonnet, but I think it turned out quite nice.” She untied the bonnet and unbuttoned the coat. Priscilla looked dismayed. “It so happens I ordered a white lamb’s wool cape and matching cap for her from Sears and Roebuck. She can wear what I got for her instead.” Eddie said, “It’s very nice—but the one you made, Hope, is nice also.” Hope’s mouth gaped. She didn’t give Dove anything last year and only gives the boys a pair of wool socks with an apple and an orange in it. “That’s very nice of you, Mother Prichard. She can wear your gift to church and wear this one for every day.” With her usual down-the-nose look, she said, “As you wish. William—Martin, your stockings are by the tree. I don’t know why Edward insists upon decorating a tree, it’s so much trouble to sweep the needles off my rug.” As if she sweeps anything off the rug. Hope draped her coat over Winn’s on a kitchen chair. She took a deep breath in preparation for her mother-in-law’s perturbing remarks dished during the meal as appetizing as cold mashed potatoes. Eddie stumbled over his feet. “Ruby Louise and I w-will take care of it, Mother. It wouldn’t feel like Christmas without a tree.” “Watch where you put those big feet, Edward. If I see one needle or tinsel on the floor, this will be the last year you put up a tree.” Her tone reiterated the fact that she still ruled the roost. Billy and Marty were in no rush to see their usual gift, but made their way to the tree. Billy held up his argyle socks and fruit. “Thank you, Grandmother.” Marty put a sock on each hand and juggled his apple and orange. “They’re a perfect fit. Thank you.” Priscilla looked to the ceiling with agitation. “For pity sakes.” She glanced at

Hope. “You may get Dove’s box from under the tree. I want to see it on her.” Hope dutifully did as she was told and put the soft cape around Dove. The cap framed her chubby face perfectly. Winn said, “She could pose for a Christmas card in that outfit. It’s a very thoughtful gift, thank you, Mother.” He was as surprised as the rest of the family at her unusual display of a giving spirit. Eddie had warmed the turkey and vegetables in the oven. When he began to set the table, his hands shook severely; Billy took over while Hope placed the food on the table. Priscilla sat at the head in critical observation. Marty placed a thick book on a chair at the table for Dove and gently tied a dishcloth around her waist. “There now, stay put, Dovey.” Winn attempted to carve the turkey, but it became a battle between man and meat. “I never could carve it like they show in magazines.” Marty said, “That’s okay, Pop, it tastes just as good.”

Walking home from Priscilla’s, the boys trudged ahead against the biting cold with coat collars up and caps over their ears. Winn carried Dove. Hope reached up to pull the white cape closed around her toddler. “This outfit must have been expensive. That’s the first nice gift your mother has ever given anyone since I’ve known her. Wonder why?” Winn said, “I’m afraid she’s showing favoritism, such as it is, to Dove. I guess because she’s the only little girl in the family. Mother always wanted a girl and went into a depression each time she had a son.” Frosty breath accentuated the dropping temperature. “Daddy told me when my two baby brothers died, one right after the other, Mother thought God was punishing her for not wanting the boys at first.” Hope put her gloved hand around Winn’s elbow. “How awful. She must have been filled with guilt for her ungratefulness and sorrow of losing her babies.” He nodded. “Then when Robert got pneumonia and died, she was inconsolable. Daddy drowned his sorrow in whiskey and Mother was in no shape to comfort me. I was surprised she came to see Dove when she was born and even held her.”

“I feel bad for Billy and Marty. I wonder how they really feel about being slighted.” “They’re used to being treated like she treats Eddie. They won’t let it bother them.” A car approached and stopped beside them. Mike Rollins rolled down his window. “Merry Christmas. How are you folks doing?” Winn and Hope stepped to the car. Winn said, “Fine, Mike, mighty fine.” Billy and Marty ran back to greet the sheriff. Hope said, “Merry Christmas, Sheriff. Are you working today?” Mike glanced through the windshield, then back at Hope. “Just cruisin’ through town, things are pretty quiet here. I just heard over the radio Japanese destroyers are causing a lot of grief to our boys with heavy artillery trying to take over Guadalcanal.” Marty’s fearful eyes stared at Rollins. “Where’s Gotta Canal?” “It’s way out in the Pacific in the Solomon Islands.” Mike realized he had put a damper on their holiday cheer. “But don’t worry, our boys are gonna whip ‘um.” Winn said, “That’s right, Mike.” “We need to pray for the Lord to spare lives though and for the war to come to an end.” Hope’s voice was filled with comion. The sheriff said, “You’re like my mother, Hope. The first thing she thinks about in any situation is prayer.” He shifted gears. “Well, ya’ll enjoy your Christmas.” He drove toward the highway. Billy and Marty walked on ahead. Hope stood still for a moment, indignation clouded her features. “Enjoy our Christmas, indeed. We couldn’t give the boys much, their grandmother slights them with obvious favoritism, and now the sheriff tells us bad news about the war. They’ll have nightmares again tonight.”

The impression an adult makes on a child might be erasable but more than likely indelible.

THE RICHLAND RECORDER

More Than A Newspaper – A Community Service


Richland, Texas November 30, 1972



With increasing controversy about our involvement in Vietnam, it will no doubt be ed and recorded as the most hated, misunderstood war in America’s history. Having been born near Atlanta, Georgia less than thirty years after the Civil War, I can attest to similar confusion about that travesty. I had uncles who voluntarily set down their plow and took up their hunting rifle. They felt it was the right thing to do without completely comprehending why the Yanks were bearing down on the South. Any man needs to be commended who defends his land from the evils of Communism spreading throughout the world, possible invasion, and threats to our freedom. I, for one, pray this long overdue darkness in Asia will come to an end and our men who have endured untold horrors in jungles and prison camps will be welcomed home soon. During WWI and WWII, prison camps were established throughout these

United States. In WWII there were 511 area camps housing mostly Germans. More were constructed in the south, numerous ones in Texas, because of the expense of heating during the winter months up north. Newspaper coverage about the camps was limited to prevent fear among citizens living in the vicinity of encampments. However, many prisoners found living conditions better than they experienced as civilians in . There were very few escapees and no reported harm to the population in the area of POW camps. America adhered strictly to fair treatment outlined in the Geneva Convention. In fact, many Germans were so impressed with America; they became citizens after the war. Another fact of WWII not reported, was infiltration of Nazi U-boats in the Gulf of Mexico, close to our ports and refineries. In February of 1942, the Gulf Sea Frontier was formed to defend the southern coast from Jacksonville, Florida to Texas. Twenty enemy U-boats operated in the Gulf. They attacked countless tankers and sank fifty-six of our vessels. Those attacks diminished when our merchant ships began to travel in armed convoys. If that information had been publicized at the time, many folks wouldn’t have slept a wink. I know my widowed mother wouldn’t have. Viewing news reels at the movies already conjured fear in the hearts of most of us, especially impressionable children. My boys, Billy and Marty who were young teens, had their share of nightmares about the enemy invading their bedroom. Maybe it’s best we don’t know some things—just the important ones like keeping the faith and trusting the good Lord. -30-

30

January 1943 —

O tis pushed open the Tribune office door. Along with his mailbag, he was sporting a hearty grin. “I have a letter that’s gonna make you smile, Mrs. Prichard.” “Wonderful, I like to start my day with a smile. It looks like your bag is stuffed this morning.” He hefted the strap higher on his shoulder. “It sure is, Christmas cards are still comin’ in. Some folks just can’t seem to get ‘um out before the holidays, so here I am with a bag full of late cards.” Otis pulled out a bundle of envelopes secured with a thick rubber band. “Here’s your share. I put the important one from Hempstead on top for ya.” He tossed another smile as he braced for the chilly air. Hope snatched the envelope. “Thank you, Otis.” Winn moseyed from the back shop. She reached for the letter opener and sat at the desk. “A letter from Mama. I’ve been waiting to hear about Betsy’s wedding.” She read it aloud.

Dear Hope and family,

Christmas day was a good day for the wedding. It was clear and not too cold. Betsy was a beautiful bride and Augie looked like he would bust with pure happiness. Pearl stood with Betsy as her maid-of-honor and cried the whole time. She hugged Betsy so tight before they left, Papa had to almost pry her away. God surely answered our prayer for healing between those two.

Hope stopped to wipe away her tears. “That’s what we’ve been praying for, Winn. God is so good.” “I guess Pearl realized Betsy was really leaving home and it hit her how much she really means to her. Jealous or not, love of flesh and blood kin is something we can’t explain. It’s hardly a good comparison, but I’ve thought how Pearl is sort of like Luther.” Hope gave him a look of disbelief. “I said sort of. Not to the extreme of Luther, but in a since of the jealousy he’s always had toward me. I know there were times you haven’t understood why I tolerate him after all he’s done, but … well, he’s my brother. I keep hoping someday he’ll come around.” She patted his arm. “I hope so too, Winn for your sake, but he’s not my brother. He still makes my skin crawl. Anyway, I’m grateful Betsy had a good send off from Pearl to start her married life with Augie.” She finished reading the letter and Winn went out to pick up the Corpus Christi Caller from the sidewalk. He leaned on the counter to scan the paper for any newsworthy items to use for the Tribune. An article grabbed Winn’s attention. “Hope, listen to this. ‘Survivors of the Coconut Grove fire in Boston are the first humans treated with the antibiotic, penicillin. As a result of the drug’s success in preventing infections, the U.S. government will the production and distribution of penicillin to our armed forces. Use of the drug has already made a major difference in the number of deaths and amputations caused by infected wounds.’” He looked up from the paper. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Of course it’s wonderful for patients now, but five years too late for Mary Jane.” Red blotches popped out on his neck. Hope’s face fell. “What do you mean, Winn?” “I mean, if penicillin would have been available to give Mary Jane, it may have saved her life. It says here it was discovered in 1928, but not government approved until after used experimentally on the Boston burn victims.” His mouth twisted. He ran his fingers through his hair and pivoted as if he wanted to go somewhere but didn’t know where.

She stood motionless sorting through her emotions. Her breath was uneven. “Winn, she…” “Sugar, the drug that could have saved her was discovered years before she was born. Why—why didn’t they make it available to doctors back then?” He perfectly fit the description of someone beside himself. “Listen to me.” She reached out to hold his arm. “God was in control, not a doctor or a drug. It was her time to die, we’ve accepted that. You’ve got to let this go. Her infection and blood poisoning was beyond anything anyone could have done.” They clung to each other in the early morning hours. Dawn had come, but the morning was overcast and gray.

As Hope expected, Winn went on a drinking binge. The revelation that their baby may have been saved by penicillin sent him over the edge. Following his pattern, Winn came up with an excuse to coat his insides with liquor until his brain quit ing what his excuse was. Winn had taken it hard when fourteen-month-old Mary Jane, died from an infected sore behind her ear, which began from an insect bite. Blood poisoning went to her brain so quickly; her death couldn’t have been prevented in 1937. At the time, Winn was completely devastated and drowned in a bottle. Hope’s heart was broken, but her strong faith brought her through.

In the kitchen, Hope served the children’s supper. “Your daddy will probably be late, go ahead and eat.” Billy eyed her suspiciously. “Where is he, Mom?” She didn’t turn around from the sink to face him. “I’m not sure.” Hope was not one to tell lies or fabricate truth. Billy knew that about her. Marty forked his potato pancake. “You should see Randy’s Cushman motor scooter, Mom. It has a sidecar. Boy, that’s what I’m saving for. It’s high-falutin’, rootin’ tootin’ cherry red. Did he take you for a ride in the sidecar, Billy?”

“He let me drive it.” His voice held no excitement for the adventure. Marty’s eyes blinked with surprise. “You drove it?” Hope twirled around. “Billy, you didn’t have permission to drive or even ride in a motor scooter.” “I didn’t think you’d get upset about it. I didn’t think about it at all.” Billy looked directly into his mother’s eyes. “Randy said I could drive it down the street in back of the IGA. There weren’t any cars and the scooter doesn’t go very fast.” Marty said, “Yeah, it’s real safe, it couldn’t turn over with that sidecar on it. Randy said his daddy bought it for him so he could deliver groceries in it.” His face lit up with eagerness. “How did it feel, Billy?” “It was alright.” He pushed his plate away. “I’m not very hungry, may I be excused?” Hope said, “I don’t want either of you on any scooter or cycle with a motor until you’re much older.” She picked up Billy’s plate. “Since you’re finished, help Dove with her supper.”

Winn finally weaved up the stairs in the wee hours and made his way to the bed. Hope was awake when he plopped beside her, bringing the sour odor of his shenanigan. She shed emotional tears of sorrow for his weakness mingled with relief that he was safe. Dove developed a cough. Hope got up with her several times during the night checking her fever and getting her to swallow lemon and honey. Hoping to clear her stuffy nose, she rubbed the baby’s chest with Vick’s VapoRub. Saturday morning, Hope went to work early to print placards for Texas Theater’s movies. Marty fixed Dove’s breakfast, dressed her warmly, and put her in the playpen downstairs. Billy pounded the linotype. He was improving, but still slow at tapping out copy. Eddie came in the shop leaving his cheerfulness somewhere else. He seemed agitated and took it out on the wastebaskets as he emptied them. Hope said,

“What’s got you upset, Eddie?” “I-I didn’t sleep very well, Hope. Luther came to the door about three this morning.” Her stomach flip-flopped. “Luther? We haven’t heard from him in years, how did he know where you live?” Eddie’s head had a tremor and his words kept getting stuck over his tongue. “Hhe said he came here to the shop and got Winn yesterday afternoon. I guess they went drinking together. Luther was drunk. M-Mother is upset.” Distressing situations flew at her faster than she could decipher them. “I must have been upstairs when he came. Do you feel all right, Eddie?” Dove began coughing, Hope picked her up. “She feels very hot, I better call Doctor Peters.” “I’m not feeling very well. I didn’t get back to sleep after Luther came in.” He rubbed Dove’s arm. “Poor baby, Uncle Eddie loves you.” He looked at Hope. “Yes, please call the doctor for her.” Hope headed to the phone. “Wait right there, Eddie, I may need you.” A few moments later, she stopped by the linotype. “Billy, keep an eye on the front, I’m taking Dove to the doctor’s office. Where did Marty go?” “You sent him to deliver the movie posters.” “He’s not back yet? He must’ve stopped off somewhere.” Billy stood. “Probably, Marty can’t ride in a beeline anywhere. Is Pop still sleeping it off?” She pushed hair from his forehead and surveyed the small scar above his eyebrow. “Yes, he got home around three. I imagine he’ll sleep most of the day. If he does come down, tell him where Uncle Eddie and I are.” She turned to Eddie. “Come on, you’re going with me.” “T-to the doctor?” His eyes opened wide with surprise. “You need me to carry Dove?” “Yes, and the doctor is going to see you, too.”

At noon, Hope closed up the shop and went upstairs. Billy carried Dove; she was sound asleep after taking the cold medicine the doctor prescribed. Marty made ham and cheese sandwiches. Their clatter roused Winn. He washed up and made an entrance in the kitchen. He was met with silence from Hope and Billy, but Marty was his usual happygo-lucky self. He said, “Hi, Pop. Guess you got to bed late. Billy’s been setting type all morning and Mom took Dove and Uncle Eddie to the doctor. Boy, Dove wasn’t happy this morning when I tried to feed her, but the baby is sleeping like a baby now. Ha—get it?” No one gave him the satisfaction of an answer. Winn steadied himself by grabbing the back of a chair. “The doctor? What’s wrong with Dove—and Eddie? Has something happened?” “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Hope gave him a brush up glare. “Sit down while I say the blessing.” After praying, she studied Winn’s unshaven, lackluster face, his eyes were red. He looked like a week of sleep wouldn’t be sufficient to restore his missing spark. “Dove has a cold and sore throat. She coughed a lot last night. Doctor Peters gave me a prescription for her that will bring the fever down and help the congestion.” “Is her fever high?” “Not now.” Hope’s tone was flat. “What’s that you said about Eddie? He went with you to take Dove?” “Eddie said he wasn’t feeling well. He couldn’t go back to sleep after Luther arrived at three this morning.” Marty’s head popped up. “Luther? That’s your brother, huh, Pop? I don’t what he looks like.” Hope thought, it’s just as well. Billy put one of Hope’s homemade pickles onto his plate. “Don’t you , Marty, when he came to Woodsboro? Mom got mad when he took a bath and she made me clean out the tub before we bathed.” He was also ing when

his daddy came home drunk and he overheard his mother’s angry confrontation with him. That’s when Billy found out Winn was a drinker and his uncle had served time for robbery. Marty said, “Oh yeah. I guess you were worried we’d catch something from him, huh, Mom?” Hope said, “It’s just that I knew he probably hadn’t had a bath in a while. I just wanted Luther’s road dirt down the drain. But he graced us with his presence another time since then.” Her remark held more sarcasm than she intended, but she was still irked about Luther slipping away in the night after taking money out of Priscilla’s handbag and Eddie’s wallet while they slept. Winn didn’t miss her peppery remark. “Yeah, well, he came by the shop and we went out for a bite. He is my brother after all.” Billy glanced at him with a tilt of his chin and a thought running through his mind. It was more than a bite. Marty said, “Gosh, I didn’t see him. Is he going to come over here?” Pushing her chair back before she finished eating, Hope said, “I don’t think so.” She gave Winn a pointed look. “He’ll probably just visit with his mother and catch the bus to wherever it happens to be going—like he usually does.” Winn kneaded stiff muscles in the back of his neck and rolled his head in a circle. “Yes, that’s more than likely what he’ll do. What about Eddie, was he feeling better after seeing the doctor?” Hope picked up half of her sandwich, wrapped it in waxed paper, and stuck it in the icebox. She turned toward Winn. “Eddie waited while Doctor Peters saw Dove. I explained to the doctor my concerns about Eddie. I told him Eddie’s hands have been shaking for several years, but recently I’ve noticed his head bobbing and this morning he had a harder time than usual getting his words out.” Billy said, “I noticed that too, Mom. What did the doctor say?” “He asked Eddie into his examining room and I took Dove out to wait. It wasn’t long before Doctor Peters called me in and explained to both of us that Eddie has what he called ‘essential tremors.’” Winn and the boys were motionless. “Let’s

see if I can exactly how he put it.” She screwed the lid on the pickle jar, looking for the words. “Eddie’s brain can’t control the muscle activity sometimes in his upper body; the tremors aren’t usually in the lower body. Along with his hands and head shaking, the tremors can affect his voice box.” Marty’s face was sad enough to conjure tears. Billy propped his elbow on the table and plopped his head in his hand. Hope said, “It gets worse when he’s nervous or stressed, like he was this morning.” Concern for his youngest brother sobered Winn. “Is there something he can take for it?” “No, there’s no cure. The only thing that helps is rest and calm surroundings.” Marty shook his head. “Grandmother Prichard’s house sure isn’t calm.”

Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.”

Ephesians 4:2

31

T he boys went to church. Hope stayed home with Dove; she was still fussy with her cold. Winn made the familiar excuse of catching up with work. With the boys away, Hope’s suppressed anger tumbled out—several decimals above normal. “You wouldn’t be behind with work if you wouldn’t have taken the time to go off with Luther and get drunk. Every time you pull a stunt, it takes you at least a day before you can think straight enough to write or set copy!” Winn seldom, if ever raised his voice, but frustration clenched his jaw. “I knew it was coming. I could see it smoldering in your face.” Her eyes were flames under arched brows. “My face isn’t the only place that’s smoldering, Winn! My entire body is blistering mad! I’m so tired of trying to understand why you do it. You say you’re going to stop, you tell me you’re sorry, but it makes no difference. Every time you’re…” She shoved a chair aside. “…you’re tempted; off you go to find a bottle! Then you spend the next day with a hangover trying to get much needed work done!” “For your information, I can do what I need to do just fine the day after! Besides, I only see Luther once every couple years!” “Thank God it’s not more than that or you’d be the town drunk!” Winn twisted in his chair and heaved a sigh, knowing any defense would prolong her tirade. His eyes took on a glint with a half-smile and tried his old trick of humor to squirm out of a tight spot. His tone was the usual soft Georgia drawl as if in casual conversation. “Speaking of a town drunk, did I ever tell you about the town that was so poor it couldn’t afford one so the men took turns getting drunk?” Hope’s mouth flew open. He didn’t wait for her response, but quickly stood to his feet. “My column won’t be in the paper if I don’t write it.” The stairs were a quick retreat. Hope threw a dish towel across the room. “Well, I’ll be John Brown!” she yelled after him. “You’re impossible, Winn Prichard.”

Though Hope would rather have walked barefoot through a field of grass burrs, she sucked up her dislike for Luther and adhered to the ritual of Sunday dinner at Priscilla’s. Luther stood when Hope walked in with Dove. His hair was slicked back with tonic. Dry river beds of road weary wrinkles accentuated the large mole on his cheek. He reached for Dove, Hope cringed and pulled away. “She has a cold, Luther, I need to give her a dose of medicine and lay her on the pallet so she can sleep.” “Oh, maybe she’ll let me hold her later.” He smiled at Billy and Marty. “Well, now, you boys sure have grown. Let’s see, you must be Billy.” He grabbed Billy’s hand and shook it, and then took Marty’s. “And you’re Marty.” The boys nodded while giving him the once—and twice over. The mysterious, wandering uncle was manifested in their grandmother’s kitchen. Eddie said, “Is Dove feeling b-better now?” Hope settled Dove on the floor padded with a quilt. “A little, but I didn’t take her to church. I didn’t want the other children to catch her cold. Her throat is still red.” Priscilla stood in the kitchen doorway. “With lack of sleep around here since the disruption of the household, I’m not feeling very well either.” She turned toward the dining room. “We’ll have to eat in here, there’s not enough room in the kitchen.” Eddie, Hope, Billy, and Marty hustled to get the table set with the meal prepared by Ruby Louise the day before. A platter of chicken and dumplings, mostly dumplings, was ed around followed by bowls of canned vegetables. Clinking forks and spoons echoed against the silence. Conversation was strained except for Marty who could merrily talk until the stripes on the wallpaper were curlicues. Luther egged him on by laughing at his jokes. “You were born too late for vaudeville, Marty. You would’ve been a headliner.” “Maybe I get it from Pop’s relatives, Franco, Birdo, and Cisco. Oh, I guess they’re your relatives too, huh?” Luther said, “Yeah, I’m surprised you know about them.”

Billy said, “Pop’s cousin, Ace, came to the shop in Woodsboro and was talking about them.” Priscilla’s mouth curved with displeasure like she just swallowed a fly. “Must we discuss those gypsies?” Luther leaned back. “Just because they traveled from town to town for their performances didn’t make them gypsies, Mother.” Priscilla’s nose pinched. “In my book that’s exactly what transient people are and you fall into that category as well, Luther. Why can’t you get a job and establish yourself somewhere.” She turned to Winn. “Surely you can use help in your shop, Winston.” Hope choked on a swallow of water. Her napkin caught liquid dribbling from her mouth. Billy jumped up and pounded her back. She put her hand up and nodded, indicating she was all right. “O-okay, I’m okay.” Her eyes were wide as she looked at Winn, shooting messages of negative content. Winn cleared his throat. Luther suppressed a smile and cocked his head, waiting for his response. Winn said, “No, Mother, we’re managing what little work we have. I think a daily paper in a large city will be the best opportunity for a job since they have several shifts.” Eddie nodded more vigorously than his tremor. “Yes, Luther. Y-you might try the San Antonio Light or one of the Houston papers. Luther reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Camels. “I don’t think the seat of my pants can sit still for a real job, my feet get too itchy.” He struck a match with his thumbnail and lit his cigarette. “It’s the roving bee that gathers the honey, don’t cha know.” His eyes shifted to Hope. She looked away. The room was silent for a moment before Eddie spoke up. “W-where’s the honey you’ve gathered, Luther?” It was asked with the innocence of a child. Dove whimpered. Hope pushed away from the table. Luther’s presence tainted her food anyway. She was finished with her meal as well as the visit. Billy began stacking the dishes and Marty followed his lead. Winn looked at Eddie. “We better get Dove on home, Eddie. Can you and Luther wash the dishes?”

Cigarette smoke squinted Luther’s eyes. “Sure, we’ll manage won’t we, Mother?” Priscilla waved the air in front of her face. “You know I’m not feeling well, Luther. I need to take a nap. Take that cigarette and ashes to the kitchen. You can dry the dishes while Edward washes.” She turned in her chair and Eddie pulled it out for her. Eddie said, “That’s okay, I c-can take care of it, you go rest, Mother.” He picked up some bowls and went to the kitchen, stopping to peer at Dove. “How is she, Hope? S-she doesn’t have any fever does she?” Hope tied the bonnet’s ribbon into a bow beneath Dove’s chin. “No, she doesn’t feel feverish, but I want to get her home before it gets any colder. It’s forecast to sleet tonight.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Eddie.” Winn followed his mother to her bedroom and closed the door. “Mother, I hope you’ve hidden any loose cash. It’s terrible, but we both know Luther is subject to snoop around to see what’s not tied down.” She sat heavily on the side of the bed. “I never thought he would have stolen from my purse or Eddie’s wallet. I confronted him and of course he denied it.” She pulled off her navy blue sweater. Winn took it and laid it across the back of her rocker. He knelt to take off her slippers. She stretched out on her bed and he put a crocheted afghan across her legs. “I paid Eddie ten dollars the other day. Luther can con him out of it. Do you know where it is?” She shaded her eyes. “Turn off that lamp, will you, Winston. Yes, Edward gave his money to me all except some change. I have our money well-hidden. Luther won’t find it this time.”

The next morning, Monday, Hope received a shipment of merchandise and display supplies. She was quite creative with her window displays, accenting each season with attractive signs and colorful crepe paper. For the month of February, she featured the birthdays of Washington and Lincoln. After hanging red, white, and blue streamers on the back wall, she stepped aside to make sure

they were draped evenly. Standing with her back next to the window, she saw movement on the other side of the glass. Jerking around, she gasped to see Luther within inches of her. He laughed. Tucking her skirt close around her legs, Hope stepped down from the window into the office. Luther was still laughing as he came in. To her, he was like a bird circling, searching for prey, delighting when he frightened her. “You should’ve seen the look on your face, Hope.” She turned on him with a sudden defensive spirit. “Maybe it was the same look every time I have to see your face. You show up whenever you run out of money and steal from your own mother and brother! That was a vile thing to do— robbing your own family!” Her voice rose with wide sweeps of her arms. Luther set his small suitcase on the cement floor and crossed his arms. He had an arrogant smile of self-satisfaction infuriating her beyond civility. She continued to lash out. “Luther, ever since you scared me to death sneaking around your mother’s house in San Antonio, you’ve been a worrisome strain. You didn’t even tell me who you were, I thought you were a thief—come to think of it my guess was right.” Her eyes were pitiless against his. “Why can’t you just settle down, get a job—be normal. How can you exist on the road? You have no family, no money, and probably no friends.” “It’s comforting to know you care, Hope. But I do have friends, I never meet a stranger. Like that guy, Will Rogers says, ‘I’ve never met a man I didn’t like.’ I even like you, Hope. You just never let yourself get to know me. I’m not half as bad as you think I am.” “Oh, yes you are. Anyone who tricks his brother into getting money out of his mother’s bank is bad.” She shook her finger at him. “You hurt your mother when you act like you don’t even love her. And poor Eddie, how could you take money from him? At least he works and helps out his mother.” She walked to the counter and turned back. “Why do you have to get Winn drunk? You know he can’t handle …” Winn pushed open the front door. “Well, hello, Luther. I went to Mother’s and Eddie said you just left.” Hope said, “Did he check his wallet?”

Luther put his hands in his pants pockets and pulled out the lining. “See, I’m broke.” She said, “Uh huh.” I wonder what he has in that suitcase. Winn glanced at the suitcase indicating he must’ve had the same thought. “Do you have any plans?” His brother shifted weight. “Can I talk with you, Winn?” Winn stood beside Hope. “We can talk here.” Luther’s dark eyes shifted to Hope, then back to Winn. “I was just…” He cleared his throat. “Just wonderin’ if you could spot me for a bus ticket to Houston. I’ve got a friend there who will put me up for a day or two until I get on my feet.” Hope put a hand on her hip. “That’s not likely. You must be pushing fifty, Luther, and still bouncing from town to town.” Winn walked around the counter to the desk. “I’ll call Jiffy Cab and ride with you to the depot.” Without a word, Hope went back to her window display. I guess a bus ticket is worth getting him away from here. Knowing Winn, he’ll probably slip him a few dollars for the road.

But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on your right cheek, turn to him the other also. Matthew 5:39

32

Spring 1943 —

“P op, Marty and I have been thinking.” Winn looked up from the type case. “Uh-oh, that means you two have some kind of scheme cooking.” He set the composing stick on top of the wooden font tray. “What’s up those sleeves?” Marty leaned on the type case and Billy answered. “Since we have the printing plant, we could publish a newsletter for the school.” “We could have news about the band and football team. I can write a few jokes and stuff kids like.” Marty breathed enthusiasm into their idea. “Well, well, well. That sounds like a mighty bright idea. I’ll help you with it.” Billy said, “No, Pop, we want it to be our paper. Marty can get the news and scrounge up some ads. I can set the copy and print it, since I know how to run the linotype and job press now. We both can be in charge of distribution.” Hope overheard bits of the conversation. “You want to print a paper?” “Yes Ma’am,” Billy said. “We’ve been working on it.” He held up the Big Chief tablet tucked under his arm. He folded the cover over to show a page meticulously drawn with three columns. “This is just a rough draft, but you can see what we’re talking about.” She took the tablet and walked to stand by Winn, iring it. “Why, I declare, this is wonderful. I’m so proud of you both.” She looked up at Winn. “Our boys are newspaper men, just like you.” Winn scratched his head. “This is quite enterprising. All right—have at it. It

needs to be at the end of the week after the Tribune is out. I’ll cover the cost of ink; we’ll have to work out your cost of the paper.” Billy said, “We’re going to cover our expenses with ads. I talked to Mr. Murdoch at the IGA. He said he’d run a little one to help us out. I betcha Mr. Koontz at the drug store will feature sodas or something since the kids stop in there after the movies.” “How do you like the name of it?” Marty puffed out his chest. “Teen Tribune, I came up with that title. It sounds like an offshoot of the Taft Tribune.” “I thought of Junior Journal, but when Marty suggested his title, I had to it mine sounded kinda sissy.” Billy looked back and forth between his mother and daddy. “We figured we’d work on it Fridays and Saturdays so we can give them out at school on Mondays. I already asked the principal, he said we can distribute them anywhere except inside the school so it won’t interfere with classes. He was pleased with the idea since we don’t have a school paper.” They worked on their mini-newspaper the following Friday night. It was printed on a sheet of legal size paper, front and back. What was lacking in ads and news, Marty filled in with riddles and jokes. The last issue came off the job press Saturday morning. The papers were bundled and ready to hand out on the school yard Monday morning. Satisfied with their work, they rode their bikes to the Texas for the Saturday matinee.

Marty guided his bike alongside Billy’s on their way home. “Man, oh man, do you really think the kids in are being trained like soldiers and have to pledge they’ll die for Hitler?” “I guess it’s true. The credits said Hitler’s Children was taken from a book. I think it was something like Education for Death. I’m glad we live in the good ole U.S. of A.” Billy’s bike swerved to avoid a dip in the sidewalk. “Bonita Granville is something, huh?” “If you like the serious type. Judy Garland looks like she’d be more fun.” “You wouldn’t know how to act around girls if you couldn’t be a clown.”

“Boy howdy, are you wrong.” Marty leaned forward with a push on his pedals. “I’ll race ya.” He sped ahead. “No fair,” Billy hollered. “Aw, I’ll beat you anyway.”

Dashing upstairs in time for supper, the boys were winded and all wound up. “You were a good two feet behind me, Marty.” “You need glasses. My tire hit the wall before you ever made to the corner of the building.” Hope set the table. “Well, if you’re going to come bursting in here arguing, maybe you boys ought to stay home next Saturday instead of going to the movies.” Billy rolled his sleeves to wash up. “We’re not arguing, Mom. Just having a little discussion.” Marty stood with one shoe on top of the other. “It’s just a little difference of opinion and faulty vision. You need to take him to see a doctor about his eyesight.” “Ha.” Billy wiped his hands on a dishrag. “Maybe your depth perception is a bit off, Wart.” Marty hurried to Dove’s highchair with mock seriousness and covered her ears. “Such language. You should be ashamed for using foul words in front of your little sister.” Dove shook her head back and forth away from him, jabbering her objection. Marty did a smooth side step toward his mother and shielded his mouth. “What does debt per…whatever he said, mean anyway, Mom?” Billy said, “It means you think you saw me behind you, when I was in front of you.” Hope filled the glasses with milk. “Last night and this morning while you two were working on your paper, I never heard a disagreement. You go to the movies and you haven’t stopped.”

Marty washed his hands. “That was business, that’s why they say all work and no play is dull. We had to finish the paper and go play so we could liven things up with a debate. He likes Bonita Granville and I’ll take Judy Garland over her any time.” “As if Judy Garland would even be seen with you.” Billy poked his brother in the arm and turned to his mother. “Yeah, Mom, we can’t let arguing interfere with getting the paper out. Like you and Pop, y’all leave the fighting ‘til work is done.” His eyes grew large with surprise of itting his observation. “Not that it’s a lot…only about one thing—most of the time.” Hope studied Billy’s face before he looked away, embarrassed. She said, “All right, Boys, that’s enough. Go call your daddy before supper gets cold.” After the Lord was properly thanked for their meager supper, talk about the movie resumed. Billy said, “I sure would hate to be a kid in , having to learn all about Hitler and the war in school.” Winn said, “I think you and I need to see Hitler’s Children, Hope. It sounds like it made quite an impression on the boys. How about tomorrow afternoon?” “You know I can’t up a movie.” Her smile didn’t betray her inner turmoil in realizing Billy and probably Marty were affected by her raised voice in arguments with Winn about his drinking. Marty gulped a swallow of milk. “I don’t know if you’ll like the picture show, Mom. But the cartoon is good. Ole Elmer Fudd still can’t catch Bugs. That wabbit is too smart for him.”

Sunday afternoon, after a game of baseball, Billy and Marty rode their bikes to Danny’s house. In the back yard, a rabbit cage housing hardy specimens drew their attention. Danny said, “One of those would sure taste good.” “Can’t y’all cook one any time you want?” Billy peered closer through the wire. “Nah, Pa says we need to sell ‘um for extra cash.” Leonard Graves stepped out the back door. “Those are some fat rabbits, huh,

Boys?” He lit a Lucky Strike, blowing smoke as he ed them. “How do you like the big white one over there?” Marty said, “I’d like to see what he tastes like, Mr. Graves.” “Would ya now?” He took another puff and studied the three faces looking up at him. “I’ll tell you what. You kill him, clean him, and my wife will cook him.” All three mouths gaped. Danny said, “Really, Pa?” Billy turned to look at the beautiful, white furry animal. “H-how do we kill him, Mr. Graves?” “Tie his hind legs together with this rope here.” He grabbed a lariat from a nail on the side of a shed. “Then tie the other end to the clothes line pole and while he’s upside down, hit him in the head with your baseball bat. Just to be sure he’s dead, whack him a couple times.” Marty swallowed hard. Billy and Danny eyed each other. Mr. Graves returned to the house. Smiling, he called his wife. “Come here, Honey.” They watched through the kitchen window. Hesitating briefly, Danny put his shoulders back and opened the cage door. He put his hand under the soft fur and lifted the rabbit. Holding him close, he pointed to the rope. “Tie his feet, Billy.” Billy followed directions and tied the rope to the pole. The rabbit swayed upside down with his big ears and front legs practically horizontal, floating like a billowy white cloud. Billy picked up the bat and handed it to his brother. “You go first, Mart.” Marty took a backward step. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I don’t feel much like eating a bunny rabbit.” Danny’s eyes held a questionable challenge when he looked at Billy. “Go ahead, hit it.” “It’s your rabbit, you take the first swing.” Billy held the bat toward Danny like it was a lighted stick of dynamite.

Danny gritted his teeth, took a batter’s stand and held the bat in a death grip. He stared at the fluffy creature serenely swinging on the rope. Danny dropped the bat, untied the rabbit, and returned him to his cage. “We have some boiled eggs in the house.” Riding home, Marty said, “I guess a rabbit’s foot does bring luck, it sure did for that bunny.”

Brothers share boyhood memories and dreams of the future hidden in the shadows of their imagination.

33

T he office screen door slammed behind Winn. “Ben Koontz at the drug store had some bad news this morning from his sister in Corpus.” Susan stood and walked to the counter. Hope stepped down from the display window. Winn answered their inquiring eyes. “Her husband was in the infantry and was killed in .” “Oh no.” Hope’s hand flew to her throat. “I suppose there’s no mistake?” He said, “I don’t think the war department would report a death if there was doubt.” Susan’s eyebrows knitted together. “Poor woman. Do they have children?” Winn set his tablet on the counter. “Yes, Ben said they have two small children. He gave me the information for a notice about his brother-in-law. It’ll be the first local kinfolk’s casualty of the war in our paper.” “It’s a miracle there hasn’t been more, thank the Lord.” Hope rubbed her arm. “I thought when the Germans surrendered to Russia back in January and the war ended in Africa last May, it would be over for all of us soon. But it just drags on.” He picked up his note tablet. “It stopped ’s aggression in Russia, but Hitler turned their efforts to Italy and …and the rest of the world.” He headed to the back shop. Hope faced Susan. “Was there anything in Giles’ letter yesterday about how the war is going in the Pacific?” “No, anything about that would be censored. But hearing on the radio about our boys getting control of Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands, makes me think that’s an indication of making some headway.” She grinned. “Giles doesn’t say where, but described improvising a meeting place for chapel with logs, bamboo stalks, and palm leaves. He said some soldiers helped set it up and invited others

to come hear his sermon. Giles says they’re so hungry to hear God’s word.” “Probably even those who never listened to a sermon before realizing how much they need the Lord now. I’m grateful for the courage of Giles and other chaplains over there.”

August 4th, 1943 —

Billy’s fourteenth birthday was a repeat of his celebration the year before, only with different friends. He and Marty with Randy Murdoch, Danny Graves, and Nicky Sawyer went to see Lassie Come Home. Afterwards, sitting around the kitchen table, the boys were served chocolate cake. Hope poured lemonade. “The icing is buttercream, but since rationing, it should be called ‘oleocream’ icing.” Only because the boys were in a festive mood, they laughed. They laughed at everything. Winn took time to sing Happy Birthday with them and wolf down a piece of cake before getting back to work. Eddie lingered, listening to the youngsters. “Boy, I’d like to have a dog like Lassie,” said Nicky. Danny said, “You look like Lassie.” Nicky laughed with the others. Dove looked around and laughed, too. They continued with good-natured teasing until time to go. Eddie stayed to help clean up and Winn, finished for the day, ed them with a cup of coffee. Eddie sat his cup gently in the saucer, “You always m-make the children feel loved, Hope. They are very blessed.” His tone was wistful. Winn caught his brother’s melancholy. “Mother didn’t make over us much, did she?” Eddie shook his head. “But Daddy and the housekeeper tried to make up for it. That is before Daddy’s drinking got so bad.” His eyes met Hope’s. Eddie brightened the mood. “R-Randy said the Teen Tribune is a big hit with all the students and even the teachers. Billy and Marty have a good f-feel for getting out a news-worthy publication.”

Hope picked up her cup and put it in the dishpan. “The Bible says pride comes before a fall, so I don’t want to say too much, but they do seem to have a love of printing.” She put her hand on Winn’s shoulder. “I’m thankful.”

“Quit beating those drum sticks, Marty. Ever since you ed the band, you’ve pounded those things on every flat surface around—even Dove’s head.” “Ah, Mom, Dove can’t help having a flat head.” “Don’t be smart with me.” Hope gave him that look that made her eyes squint. “You know very well what I mean—and Dove’s head is not flat although you might make it that way if you keep using it as a drum.” Susan laughed. “Marty, no matter what you’re interested in, you give your all. You’re also pretty speedy with a pencil, leaving ‘Kilroy was here’ on every scrap of paper.” She looked at Hope. “I went to the bathroom yesterday and when I came back a picture with eyes and big nose was peeking over my paper in the typewriter.” Marty giggled. Hope tilted her head with raised eyebrows. “I guess the Kilroy cartoon is harmless, but put down those drum sticks. Come on and help me get the window decorated with that shipment of school supplies.” Marty hopped in the window, his arms loaded with packs of pencils, paper, and folders. “Here comes Pop. He looks pretty peppy. Maybe he got a scoop for his column.” “Hi folks.” Winn sailed in on the wings of September briskness and unrestrained sunshine. “I’ve got some news I think you’ll like to know about for your newsletter, Marty.” Marty yelled to Billy in the back shop. “Stop the press.” He looked at Winn. “I knew I’d be able to say that someday. What’s up, Doc?” Billy ambled to the office. Winn said, “Mr. Koontz at the drug store has gotten a Rock-Ola Jukebox.” Marty’s usual exuberance multiplied by ten. “Cut my legs off and call me

shorty.” Billy blinked in shocked surprise. “Can we go see it?” Marty said, “We need to get all the details to report it.” Winn nodded. The boys ran out the door and straddled their bikes like Roy Rogers on Trigger off to catch some ornery bandits. Susan said, “I’m surprised Ben Koontz can afford a jukebox.” Winn took off his hat. “It was given to him by his sister—the one whose husband was killed.” He looked at Hope’s questioning face. “It seems she and her husband had a café on Shore Drive in Corpus, he was the cook. Since he enlisted, she hasn’t been able to keep a good cook and had been in a bind trying to keep it open. Now that her husband is not coming back, she closed her doors and gave Ben the remainder of the rental agreement with Rock Ola for the jukebox. He said if it brings in enough business to cover its lease, he’ll keep it.” “What a terrible loss.” Hope sat in the chair beside the desk. “Her husband and her business gone, with two small children to raise. Wonder what she’s going to do?” “Ben said he asked her to come to Taft and work in the soda shop. She’s thinking about it. Well, I need to set up his ad about the new addition to his business. It’s a dandy. The Rock-Ola is a good company. Since the war, they’ve stopped making jukeboxes though and are manufacturing M1 carbines and ammunition for the military.”

Open skies of September stretched across the flat land with swan-like clouds. The migrant workers descended with a welcome windfall of extra cash flow for Taft merchants. The town took on a Mexican flair with the gaiety of strumming guitars, smell of taco stands, and bargaining in Spanish at the sidewalk sales. Billy and Marty bought a raspa at the stand in the lot by their building. A cute teenage girl flirtatiously served them. A large woman hurried toward them shaking her finger and shouting a string of Spanish words. The boys turned and ran to the office. Billy said, “Holy moly, that lady was sure riled up about something. I wish I understood what that girl was saying to us.”

Marty chomped on his flavored ice. “Whatever it was, her old lady didn’t like it and blamed us for just listening, I guess.” “Ok, Mart, forget about that girl.” Billy took the last sip from his white triangle paper cup. He grabbed a piece of poster board, took it to the work table, and drew the outline of the linotype keyboard. “If you memorize these first three lines of vertical keys, you’ve pretty much got it made.” He quickly filled in the circles with letters. Marty squeezed close to Billy’s shoulder. “Etaoin, shrdlu, cmfwyp — are you kidding?” “You said you want to learn, these are the most used letters. I know it looks hard, but you’ll catch on if you set your mind to it.” He continued writing symbols in the circles. “I learned on a dummy keyboard like this and Pop taught me the mechanics of the machine. You have to know how it works so you can fix it if it jams and nobody else is around.” “All right, I’ll learn it and betcha I’ll be faster than you or Pop.” Billy shoved the paper toward Marty. “You might get faster than me, but I doubt you’ll up Pop. His fingers are like greased lightning when he gets going—if he’s not hung over.” “How come Mom never learned the linotype? She knows how to do everything else.” “That’s probably why; she does everything else including the cooking.” Winn walked from the office. “So you want to be a typesetter, huh, Marty? We’ll have to get another linotype with three operators. I’m sure proud of you boys taking such interest in the printing business. The Prichard Printing Company will soon be the biggest in south Texas.” Marty scooped up his dummy keyboard. “It sure will, Pop.” Susan called from the front desk. “Winn, you mother is on the phone.” Winn hurried to answer the call. Billy said, “Uh, oh. I bet he’s sorry he ever got a phone for her.”

“Wonder what she’s complaining about now? Probably something like the faucet leaking or Miss Ruby Louise making her coffee too weak.” Marty glanced at his upside down cardboard. Billy frowned and turned it right side up. “It’s a wonder Pop doesn’t lose patience with her. She never has been a good mother to him and he treats her like she has.” Marty said, “He’s good to her not because she’s a nice person, but because he is.” Billy studied his brother’s freckled face. “That’s pretty deep, you must’ve heard it somewhere, knucklehead.” “Hey, I got some smarts.” He pointed to his forehead. “Kidneys, man, kidneys.” Winn hurried toward the back. “Boys, get your baseball bat. Eddie, grab that big garbage can. Where’s the fly swatter?” The boys looked at each other with wide eyes for a second before Marty ran up the stairs, two at a time to get the bat. Eddie looked too shocked to move. Billy picked up the large trash can. “What happened?” Winn grabbed the broom. “Mother has bats.” Eddie said, “B-bats?” Marty ran from the stairway. “Yeah, I got the bat.” “Billy said, “Not that kind of bat, Mart. Grandmother has bats.” “I know she has bats in the belfry, but what does Pop need our bat for?” “For the bats in Grandmother’s belfry. Come on.” The four of them ran through the back alley on to Cotton Gin Street. Winn had the fly swatter and a broom. Marty carried the bat, Billy had the can, and Eddie brought the lid. They got more than a few stares. The men were winded when they reached the front porch where Priscilla was waiting for them.

“M-mother, are you all right?” Eddie panted heavily. “No, I’m not all right. I’m left alone with blood sucking vampires coming out of the attic.” Winn said, “Where’s Ruby Louise?” “She said she had a doctor appointment. I told you she was leaving early today, Edward. I expected you home before she left.” “I f-forgot, Mother.” Billy said, “Are the bats in the house, Grandmother?” “Of course they are in the house, why else would I be out on this porch in the heat?” Winn said, “Okay, stay out here, Mother, you too Fellas. Come on Eddie, let’s see what the situation is.” He held up the swatter with one hand, and the broom with the other, ready to swing at flying objects. Eddie held the lid in front of his chest like a shield. They placed their feet cautiously inside as if walking through a mine field. “It’s dark as a tomb in here.” Winn said. “I guess the bats thought it was a cave.” “S-she pulls the shades down to keep the heat out and doesn’t turn on the lights to save on the electric bill.” Eddie crept with his shoulders hunched more than usual. With rustling wings, something black flew over Winn’s head. He shuttered and quickly protected himself with the broom. “What was I thinking? We’ve got to get out of here. Bats carry rabies or some kind of disease. You and Mother are coming to our house tonight. Hurry and grab some things you need.” He walked with Eddie to his room and stood watch while Eddie gathered clothes for overnight and the next day. “There’s no way a baseball bat or fly swatter will work.” He grabbed the afghan from the couch on the way out. Billy took the broom Winn handed him on the porch. “Did you see anything, Pop?”

“I heard enough to give me the willies. Mother, you and Eddie are staying with us tonight.” Marty nudged Billy. They gave each other a look of doom. Their daddy said to Priscilla, “I’m going in with you to keep your head covered. I want you to get what you need for tonight.” Priscilla said, “No, I’m not going back in there with those nasty creatures.” “Fine, I’ll rummage through your drawers and find some drawers for you.” Winn stated. The boys giggled. Her hand flew to her throat. “Winston Prichard, how dare you be so crude to refer to my undergarments.” She grabbed the back of a chair and wiped her hanky across the nape of her neck. “Oh, what must I endure? All right, I’ll not have you go through my … my things, bats or no bats. Be sure you hold that spread over me at all times.” She stepped close to Winn as he opened the door and held his arm over her with the afghan draped over it. Billy said, “I’m going to run home and warn Mom.” When he dashed away, Marty was with him.

Retreating isn’t cowardice; it’s backing off to regroup.

34

H ope held Dove on her hip. “Bats?” Alarm clanged through her limbs. “That’s right, Mom. Grandma and Eddie can’t stay in their house tonight so they’re coming over here.” “Oh, my Lord in heaven.” She looked around the kitchen for something, not knowing what. She placed Dove in her highchair with a cracker. “Billy, go call Susan and ask if we can borrow the rollaway bed she let us use when Betsy was here. Ask if she can please bring it right away if you and Marty can run over there and help her load it in her car.” He dashed down the stairs. Hope scurried around the children’s room, straightening, tossing clothes in the chifforobe. “Marty, help me put clean sheets on your bed for Mother Prichard.” When he came back upstairs, Billy was breathless, mostly from excitement. “She said we can come over and get it. I told her about the bats and she started laughing.” Hope said, “Well, I’ll laugh later.”

Priscilla’s voice, brimming with distaste, forged ahead of her as she mounted the stairway of Mount Everest. “How can you expect a seventy-four-year-old woman to walk for blocks in torrid heat and climb a mountain of steep stairs without having heart failure?” Eddie said, “We could carry you, M-mother.” Winn grimaced and gave Eddie a look telling thoughts that his brother was out of his mind. Hope heaved a sigh of dreaded expectation and walked to the landing. “Mother Prichard, I’m sorry to hear about the bats.” “You’re sorry? I’m the one who is sorry we ever moved in that house of vampires.” She held a hand over her heart as if keeping it from pounding out of

her frail chest. Finally at the summit, she was led to a chair. “I knew I didn’t like that house, Winston. How could you allow your sick mother to live in such conditions?” She waved her handkerchief feebly in front of her face. Billy called from the bottom of the steps. “We have the roll-away bed, Mom. Miss Susan wants to know if she can help with anything.” “Not a thing, tell her thanks for the bed.” Winn made a quick retreat to get the bed out of Susan’s car. At the bottom of the stairs, Winn said, “Let me get on the downside end, Billy, you guide it up.” Upstairs, Hope said, “Would you like a glass of ice water, Mother Prichard?” “I most certainly would. If that makeshift bed is for me, I won’t sleep a wink.” Setting the water on the table, Hope said, “You may have the boys’ bed, Eddie can have the roll-away.” Eddie walked across the room to the top of the stairs and hollered, “You need any help?” He received a muffled reply from Winn. “No.” He gave a last push from behind the folded frame, springs, and mattress. “How did you boys get this up here for Betsy?” Marty said, “Randy and Billy pushed and I pulled. We’re strong, but we were whipped. What good are rollers when you gotta get it upstairs? They’re as useless as wings on a chicken.” “At least you can eat the wings.” Winn wiped a handkerchief across his face and took the glass of water Hope held out for him. Hope’s supper plans was Mexican food from the migrant workers camp. Hope handed Billy a dollar and a half. “Here, you and Marty run pick up six tamale plates.” Priscilla’s face darkened. “Tamales? I’ll not eat anything from a stand on the street. Who knows if it’s sanitary? It’s probably dog meat.”

Marty said, “I heard it’s bat meat.” “Marty, hush.” Hope sighed. “Would you like some scrambled eggs, Mother Prichard? Or I can fix a sandwich for you.” She opened the icebox. “I have some cheese.” “Ruby Louise made a ham loaf, it’s in the icebox. Edward, go get it.” Winn put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “That would take too long, Mother. We’re tired and hungry. The ham loaf can wait until tomorrow. Hope offered to fix something for you and we will have tamales. That will have to do for tonight.” Priscilla leaned an elbow on the table and plopped her head in her hand. Music and buzz from the street rose from the lot below. “How do you stand that incessant noise?” “I find it enjoyable.” Winn pulled out a chair and sat. His mother straightened in her chair and tilted her chin as if she were royalty. “Very well, I’ve been subjected to hardship before. If I must, I can endure this inconvenient circumstance.” Her head remained steady as her eyes moved to Hope. “I would like toast with my eggs.” Hope got out the skillet. Wonder what hardship she ever endured? Later, Priscilla tottered to her bed across the room from Dove’s playpen where she was settled for the night. The boy’s pallet was beside Eddie’s roll-away in the kitchen nook. In the privacy of their room, Winn and Hope lay in their bed listening to soft guitar music drift through their rusted screen window. Priscilla’s comment preyed on Hope’s mind. “What hardship has your mother endured, Winn?” He put his arms behind his head and rested against the headboard. “Beats me. Maybe it was when she had to stay with Grandma and Grandpa Prichard at their grist mill in Georgia while Daddy was drying out from alcohol. That had to be a hard time for her.” “Humph, if that’s the only thing she’s ever had to ‘endure’, she’s more blessed than she knows.”

“Her entire life she’s been blessed beyond her ability to recognize it.” Winn gave Hope a goodnight kiss.

Saturday morning, Eddie and Winn entered Priscilla’s house with a couple of cardboard boxes. They filled them with icebox items and staples from the cabinets. Winn dared to scoop clothing from his mother’s chest-of-drawers and snatch dresses from her closet. In the office, Hope held the heavy black phone to her ear. “Ruby Louise? This is Hope. I’m calling to let you know Mother Prichard and Eddie are at our place. There are bats in her house.” She listened to the shocked surprise from the housekeeper. “That’s right. Winn thinks they got in from the opening by that loose light fixture in the ceiling of the living room. He called the owner of the house. I don’t know how he’s going to get rid of them, but Mother Prichard refuses to go back there, even if the bats are gone.” Hope nodded to Susan when she pushed open the screen door and waved. Hope continued her conversation on the phone. “You’re right about that, she is stubborn. So it looks like she’ll be with us until we can find another place for her.” Susan looked at Hope with raised eyebrows. Hope tilted her head with a little shrug. “Ruby Louise, do you think you can work here until they relocate?” Hope fiddled with the typewriter, pushing the carriage back and forth. “Uh-huh, just straighten up the apartment and cook, like you did at her house.” She waited. “That will be wonderful. We’ll see you Monday, good-bye.” “Well, sounds like y’all had some excitement last night.” Susan sat at the desk and took a handkerchief from her purse. “We sure did. Thank you for bringing the bed, I hope we may use it for a while.” Susan wiped her forehead. “You’re welcome, you may use it as long as you need it. I won’t be able to get it anyway. I barely made it home yesterday. All four tires are as bald as Mr. Brooks head and one of them blew out on Cotton Gin Road.” “Oh no. What did you do?” I walked the rest of the way home and called Mr. Wade. This morning he towed

the car to my house and put it up on blocks since there are no tires to be had. I walked here.” She patted her cheeks with the hanky. Hope plopped in the chair by the desk. “I’m so sorry.” They sat in silence for a moment. “Seems like both of us have adjustments to make.” The mailman slammed the door. “Mornin’ ladies. It’s hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk out there. But I can’t find any takers for ‘um.” He chuckled. Susan said, “I well know how hot it is. I had to walk here this morning, so I can sympathize with you out in the heat.” Looking through the mail, Hope found a letter from Woodsboro. “Thank you, Otis.” She left them to discuss Susan’s auto and went to a stool in the back. Printing the school newsletter, Billy pumped the pedal and inserted papers in and out of the job press like a veteran printer. At the worktable, Marty folded the papers with the heading facing outward. “Who’s the letter from, Mom?” Continuing to read, she said, “From Rosalie.” Winn stepped to the table. “Eddie is putting away the things we picked up from Mother’s. Is Ruby Louise agreeable to come here for a while, Hope?” “Yes, she said that’ll be fine.” She looked up and gave Winn a smile. “Rosalie sent a newsy letter. She says Lenora and Eugene Upton are expecting a baby.” With his forearms on the table, Winn clasped his fingers. “Is that right? I can’t imagine sourpuss Eugene with a baby.” “Maybe that’s the thing that will take away his sour expression. His mother must be so happy. The Park’s boys are fine; they sent Lenora a dressing gown from Hawaii.” Billy brought a stack of newsletters from the press. “I’m glad to hear Harold and Harvey are doing okay.” Marty leaned close to peer at the letter. “Does Rosalie say anything about Hannah?”

“No, but listen to this—Roger’s son, Wayne, has been promoted to Captain.” She folded the letter. “Isn’t it wonderful to hear some good news?” Eddie came into the shop. “I w-would like to hear some good news.” Hope filled him in on Rosalie’s letter. He said, “Oh, thanks be to the Lord, I’m g-glad to hear it.” He brushed a hand across his shirt. “I put away the food and our clothes. Well, I stacked them on the table you put up there, Hope. Mother was asking about dinner. Sh-should I make sandwiches with the ham loaf?” “Thank you, Eddie. I’ll slice some tomatoes to go with the sandwiches.” She stepped toward the office. “Susan, will you stay for lunch?” Susan said, “Thank you, no. I’ll head home after I finish typing the statements and stop at the drug store for a bite. That’ll break up my walk.” She explained her car dilemma to Winn and Eddie. Hope found Priscilla at the window looking at the view of the camp in the lot beside the print shop. “What a motley group of people. Aren’t you concerned for your safety, Hope?” With a graceful toss of her head, she said, “Not any more than when I picked cotton alongside workers just like them when I was a kid.” With pursed lips, her mother-in-law stared across the room at Hope with the distinct aura of her own pathetic pride. The rest of the family came up stairs and took turns washing up. Billy put a newsletter on the table for his parents. When Priscilla complained about the ham loaf, Winn looked at her with disdain. “Mother, Ruby Louise made it, Hope only served it.” Ignoring Priscilla’s barb, Hope said, “Are you boys going to the picture show this afternoon?” Billy’s mouth was full, Marty answered. “Yes, Ma’am. Hurry and finish your moo juice, Billy, let’s get going.” Priscilla sighed with exasperation. “I’ll never get over the rude behavior of both of you.”

Billy swallowed and said, “What did I do?” “Must I expound on all the lack of etiquette I’ve observed in the short time I’ve been here?” “Oh no, Grandmother.” Billy set his glass of milk on the table. “I wouldn’t want to tire you out. I’ll try to watch my manners.” He gulped the rest of his milk. “May I be excused, please?” Marty was half-way out of his chair and sat down. “May I be excused, please?” Dove, with her limited vocabulary, said, “Peeze.” Everyone laughed except Priscilla. Marty said, “You can’t go with us, Dovey, but maybe in a couple of years.” After putting their dishes on the counter, Billy and Marty dashed down the stairs. Hope stacked the dishes. Eddie said, “Keep your seat, Hope. I’ll clean up.” “Thanks, Eddie.” Picking up the boy’s newsletter, she leaned back to read it. Winn poured another glass of iced tea and turned back to the table when Hope chuckled. “What’s so funny?” “I’m not sure if it’s funny or puzzling, maybe both. Marty wrote a news item about the jukebox in what I suppose is…is jive talk.” “Let me see that.” Winn reached for the paper. “Hmm. ‘All you hepcats, put on your groovy ground grippers, grab your main queen, and boogie on down to Koontz Drug Store.’” He peered over the top of the paper with laughter evident in his eyes. Looking back at the newsletter, he read more. “‘Be-bop to the latest seventy-eight grooves on the new Rock-Ola Jukebox. For a mere silver buffalo, you can hear your favorite canary and swinging cats frisking the whiskers from early bright to early black. Jacks, lasso your Jills for some jumping that’s mellow. I’m bugging your ears, Cool Cat Koontz is da place. I’ll plant you now and dig you later. Mart the Dart.’” Winn looked up at Hope, they burst out laughing. Eddie had eased onto a chair to listen. He laughed until he practically choked. “I w-wonder what Mr. Koontz will think of being called, C-Cool C-Cat K-

Koontz?” Priscilla’s face twisted with disapproval. “What kind of gibberish is that supposed to be? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.” Winn said, “It’s just made up talk for fun, Mother.” “You allow your son to write that kind of thing for publication?” Hope said, “It’s just for kids, Mother Prichard. I think it’s quite commendable that the boys are printing their own little newspaper.” Priscilla crossed her arms. “Well, I never.” Under his breath, Winn said, “And never will.”

Some on the mountaintop of age look down on youth with humorless condemnation. Others on the summit reach out a hand of encouragement to those starting up the foothills.

35

October 22, 1943 —

A fter a stormy night, dawn struggled to break free and finally won. The welcome chill of fall invigorated Hope as her eyes opened to expectant goodness of God’s grace. While the family slept, she tiptoed to Dove’s playpen where the baby was curled with her knees to her chest. She had kicked off her blanket. Hope gently covered her little girl and watched her breathing in and out. Oh, Dove Lynette, how I prayed for you, yearned for you, loved you before you were even conceived. Hope smiled and tenderly brushed a wisp of hair from Dove’s cheek. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for this little girl. Bless her and be with her always. I pray she accepts your gift of salva tion. Priscilla stirred in the bed across the room. “Is she all right, Hope?” Hope spoke just above a whisper. “Yes, she’s fine. I was just thanking the Lord for her. Today is her second birthday.” Priscilla said, “Yes, I know.” It surprised Hope that she ed. She stepped closer to Priscilla’s bedside. “It’s overcast, but it stopped raining. It looks like a good day for moving into your house.” “I’m sure you think any day is a good day for me to move out of yours.” Priscilla threw off her cover and sat up. Hope stooped to retrieve one of Priscilla’s slippers from under the bed. “Now, Mother Prichard, you know that’s not what I meant.” She slipped the house shoes on Priscilla’s small feet. “Let me see if the bathroom is clear for you.”

Before eight, Ruby Louise knocked on the wall at the bottom of the stairwell. “Yoo-hoo, good morning.” Marty met her on the way down. “Morning, Miss Ruby. I gotta hurry to the old house to help load the moving truck.” “I saw your daddy and Eddie walking over there, Billy was riding his bicycle. I made some cupcakes for Dove’s birthday.” “Thank you, Ma’am. I guess we’ll have ‘um for supper.” He darted around the corner, out the back door, and jumped on his bike. Boy, oh boy, we get our bed back tonight and we can listen to what we want on the radio. Hot diggidy dog. Floyd’s moving van was parked by Priscilla’s front porch – or what used to be her porch. The owner of the house assured Winn that the bat problem had been taken care of, but Priscilla would hear none of it and insisted on moving. It took over a month for a rental property to become available, a month of inconvenience, tolerance, and endurance of Priscilla’s prickly onishments. Winn took her to see the prospective house before renting it this time. He held his breath waiting for her approval while she puttered and poked through every cabinet and closet. Her movements seemed programed from a lifetime of snobbishness, a trait which no longer coincided with her meager pocket book. The rest of the family, including Eddie, was elated when she agreed to rent the house which was half a block from the high school. Ruby Louise babysat with Dove and Priscilla while Hope walked to the old residence to pack the last items from the cabinets. She cleaned the entire house, stopping only for the sandwich she packed. It had been arranged for Jenkins Jiffy Cab to arrive in early afternoon to transport her and an assortment of small boxes to the new location. At the new house, Winn wiped a sleeve across his forehead as he walked to the taxi. “Sure appreciate your help, Albert; you don’t have to carry in those boxes.” “It’s the least I can do, the missus looks plum tuckered out. Should I go pick up your mother at your place now?” Hope walked across the yard toward them. “Yes, Mr. Jenkins. The boys and I will go with you to pick up the clothes and things there.” She called to Billy and

Marty. Dove napped while the boys put Eddie’s and Priscilla’s clothes in the cab. Hope helped Priscilla down the stairs with Ruby Louise walking in front of them. “I’m right here, Miss Priscilla, in case you misstep, I won’t let you fall.” Priscilla said, “Hope, I can’t understand why you don’t put a light in this dark stairway.” “I’ve intended to, Mother Prichard; ever since we moved in. I think every electrician in Taft is away in the military. I may just rig up a hanging bulb with a long extension cord from the kitchen.” Priscilla heaved a sigh when they reached the shop level. “Well, see to it that you do, I wouldn’t want anyone to trip while carrying Dove.” Hope thought. That would be terrible, but I guess it would be okay with her if anyone trips if we’re not carrying Dove. “You’re right, I’ll see to it soon.” The boys were waiting in the front seat with Mr. Jenkins. Priscilla took her sweet time getting settled in the back seat. Hope turned to Ruby Louise. “Thank you for taking care of Dove and fixing our supper. We’ll be back in a little while.” Priscilla said, “And where is my supper?” Ruby said, “Oh my goodness, I forgot to get it. Everything is in the icebox; Eddie can heat it in the oven when you’re ready to eat. I’ll fetch it.” Billy opened the cab door. “I can bring it down, Miss Ruby. Show me what to get.” At the new house, Hope made up the beds and organized a few necessities for Eddie and Priscilla. She was ever so grateful supper was already prepared. On one hand, her body was exhausted but on the other, she was bolstered with the fact that her mother-in-law’s hovering critical presence would be absent at home. After eating in new found peace, Winn, Hope, Billy, and Marty enjoyed Dove’s cupcakes with the little girl in celebration of her birthday and finally having their home to themselves.

Sunday afternoon, Billy and Marty gave Danny and Randy picture show tickets unused by Hope and Winn since they chose to rest. After the movie, the boys spent an hour at Koontz drug store listening to the jukebox and drinking sodas with some girls they knew from school. Taft was so small, they knew everyone, but these girls were special. Samantha and Savanna, the Withers twins, made Ramona and Hannah from Woodsboro a dim memory for Billy and Marty. Over a supper of leftovers, the family ate in relaxation, free from the fear of an affront from Priscilla. Marty said, “I know I have to love Grandmother because she’s your mother, Pop, but I’m glad we don’t have to live with her all the time.” “In all honesty—me too, Son. Thank you—especially you, Hope, for putting up with having her and Eddie here. Actually, I’m a bit surprised we got along as well as we did.” Hope pushed her fork around her plate. “Well, I had quite a few conversations with the Lord. Only Jesus could keep me quiet, but there were times I struggled so hard to keep words from flying out of my mouth, my jaws ached from clenching my teeth.” Billy said, “I could tell, Mom, and felt bad for you. Since you were trying to keep the peace, I tried too.” “I know, Billy.” She looked from Billy to Marty with a smile. “I’m proud of you both for respecting her. Sleeping on the floor had to get old. You made the best of the situation.” Changing the subject, Winn said, “How was the movie?” Billy said, “It was sad, Samantha and Savanna said they cried at the end. But it really made me ire Lou Gehrig. He had to quit playing for the Yankees because he got sick and I think he knew he was going to die. At his last game he made a speech about how much he loved baseball and felt he was the luckiest man on earth because he got to be a Yankee.” “Yeah,” Marty said, “That was when Gary Cooper made ‘um cry.” Hope’s eyes widened. “Gary Cooper? If I would’ve known he was in it, I

would’ve skipped my nap.”

The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate.

36

The Taft Tribune



Taft, Texas January 6, 1944


The Town Tattler – Winn Prichard

New Year greetings from the Prichard family—we extend best wishes for 1944 to usher in health and happiness for you and yours. Last year at this time I expressed my hope that there would be a rapid end of the war. About this time last year, our Allied leaders met with Roosevelt and Churchill and their advisors at the Casablanca Conference. They made a t declaration that the war would end only with unconditional surrender of the Axis States headed by , Italy, and Japan. Well, I know we all hoped it would come to fruition in 1943, but here we are and our boys are still fighting. Let

us continue to pray for them and our Allies. Let us do all we can to the war effort and trust that the desired pact our leaders made will be a realization soon. One way the illustrious ladies of Taft are making a contribution is through the Red Cross. Mrs. Bea Ivy, chairman of the local Red Cross is urging women to donate four hours a week to help meet the large quota of surgical dressings needed by our military medical units. There will be a meeting next Thursday in her home where she will review the requirements of an efficient work room and preparation of standard bandages. She stressed in her appeal to me for publicizing this meeting that only cotton dresses be worn, hair completely covered, and hands sterile, void of nail polish. The Tribune received a V-mail letter from Pvt. Lloyd Krebs whose location is somewhere in India. He says he is doing his best for Uncle Sam and likes India all right, “but not as good as the good old USA.” He says he would sure like to receive his hometown paper. We have put you on our mailing list, Lloyd. We hope The Tribune gets through and we wish God’s protection for you. Folks, we have his address here at the office for anyone who would like to write him. In the effort of informing you about our fighting boys, we keep up with the casualty lists from each branch of service. This week, among the seven on the list from Texas is Marine Private First Class, Ernesto Galvez, Jr. of Taft. We ed his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Ernesto Galvez, Sr. who said their son is expected to recover. They requested my including the information in the paper in order to ask for prayers on his behalf. We’re glad to oblige their wish and we are including Ernesto in our prayers as well. The March of Dimes fund raising campaign begins January 24th through the 31st. Mr. Ingram, owner of the Texas Theater, announces they are cooperating with the drive. A special trailer about infantile paralysis hosted by the actress, Greer Garson, will be shown during that week. Local Boy Scouts will be in the theater lobby with containers for contributions. With a distinctive void of men in our community, women have taken up the slack in varied workforce positions. One area which deserves special recognition and hearty thanks is that of our Taft school teachers. Many have volunteered to keep the five school buses running twice daily. Besides their

usual hard work of educating our children, they are making sure almost 200 students who ride the bus, continue to have transportation. I tip my hat to all who are stepping up to the plate to fulfill needs in our community. I would like to leave you with a quote from Winston Churchill, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” That’s -30- for this week’s column.

37

“I wish I didn’t have to ride over to Grandmother’s to check on her after school,” grumbled Marty as he guided his bike on the sidewalk behind his brother. “Why can’t you do it sometimes, Billy?” “’Cause, I gotta get to the shop and start work.” Billy’s tires bumped on to the street from the curb. Marty followed. “But, I have to pick up the papers for my route.” Billy said, “The evening Chronicle doesn’t even get to the depot ‘til three-thirty. You have time to check on the old lady. Why did Mrs. Thompson yell at you from her window to come in from recess today?” “Ah, she doesn’t appreciate my humor.” He veered off toward their Grandmother’s house. “I’m off like Gang Busters, see ya.” Priscilla’s kitchen screen door slammed behind Marty. “Hiya, Miss Ruby, whatcha cookin’?” Ruby Louise turned from the stove as Priscilla came into the kitchen as fast as her weak legs could make it. “Martin, I’ve told you a dozen times not to let the door slam.” “Sorry, Grandmother. It sure smells good in here.” The housekeeper gave Marty a welcoming smile. “I’m making navy bean soup, but it’s the cake in the oven that smells good.” He stepped closer to the stove and peered into the large iron pot. “Um, soup smells good too.” His grandmother said, “Martin, must you dash over here every day after school?”

“I must, Grandmother. I have orders from headquarters to make sure all communications from the front are still in operation.” Priscilla sat at the table. “For heaven’s sake, Martin, can’t you be serious for once.” He pulled out a chair, turned it around and straddled it. “Funny you should say that. My teacher asked me the same thing today.” Ruby Louise said, “I always enjoy your visits, Marty. I think it’s a wonderful trait to be light-hearted.” Priscilla’s look was hot enough to make the soup boil and spill over. “Well, I find it tiring and juvenile.” “But, Grandmother, I am a juvenile.” He ignored her squinty eyes. “Anyway, I’m supposed to see if you need me to do anything.” She twisted in her chair. “Yes, Martin. I need for you to turn the chair around and sit in it properly when you are at my table. The other thing I need for you to do is to tell your father, he need not burden you or me with your daily interruptions.” She laid her hands flat on the table and pushed herself upright. “If I need anything, I know how to call him. Tell him that his concern is appreciated, but entirely unnecessary.” She turned toward the door to the hallway. Marty jumped up and swung the chair around. “Sure, I can do that. So long, Miss Ruby. Wish I could stay for some cake, but I gotta pick up the Chronicles.” The housekeeper said, “I’ll miss your ‘daily interruptions’, Marty. Keep spreading sunshine everywhere you go.” He waved and purposely allowed the door to slam.

After his paper deliveries, Marty stood at a work table in the shop beside Winn who was framing type around Cohen’s Dry Goods ad. “Pop, Grandmother said to tell you I don’t have to check on her every day. She said she’d call if she needs anything.”

Winn placed a medal spacer at the bottom of his column. “I suppose you can skip stopping over there every day.” “Good, her command is my wish.” Billy walked from the linotype. “Don’t you mean her wish is your command?” “Nope, when Grandmother speaks it is a command and that particular command is what I wished.” He took a swig of his R.C. Cola and hung close while Billy studied Winn’s swift hands filling in spacers between copy and ads. Their daddy straightened and gave Marty a questioning look. “Something else on your mind, Son?” Billy snorted. “There’s always something on his mind, feeble as it is.” His brother placed an elbow on the work table. “It’s like this, Pop. I was havin’ fun at recess when Mrs. Thompson hollered for me to come inside. She calls me Martin like Grandmother does—they are the only two people who don’t call me by my friendly name. Anyway, she bawled me out and said, ‘Martin …’” His imitation was high pitched. ‘“You simply must take life more seriously and cut out that funny stuff all the time.’” Winn’s brow crinkled. “What were you doing that aggravated her?” “I was just doing my Groucho Marx act—you know.” He hunched over, flicked his imaginary cigar, and wiggled his eyebrows. “Savannah Withers just happened to be running from me at the time.” Billy said, “Savannah knew he was just trying to get some laughs and went along with it. It was recess after all.” “Boys, you can’t let it bother you when you’re criticized for being you, if you’re doing no harm. Life is serious enough as it is without any assistance from a frowning face.” His mouth curved into a crooked smile. “It’s a good thing to walk on the sunny side of life. Humor can sometimes get you through a tough time. But there may be thin lines between being a happy-go-lucky fella, an offensive oaf, or a cheerful idiot, so watch that you don’t step over those lines.” Billy said, “I’ll give him a warning if I see him getting close to making an idiot

out of himself. He often comes pretty close!” Marty stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “Gee, it would be a kick if I could see Mrs. Thompson or Grandmother having a good knee-slappin’, belly-jigglin’ laugh. They are way too serious and never look happy. I’m glad you have a sense of humor, Pop.” Billy nodded. “Yeah, there’s a big difference between happy people and serious ones. If we get to choose which side we’re going to be on, I’ll take the happy side.” Winn ruffled Billy’s hair. “We can choose and I’ll take the side with the happy folks along with you fellas any day.”

With a heart as light as a snowflake, step into the sunshine and see your troubles melt away like snow.

38

S aturday morning, Susan stood at the counter tearing pages from the week’s issue of the Tribune. She quarter folded them and found the statement corresponding with the customer’s ad on that page and stapled it to their bill. Hope sat at the desk making entries in her ledger. “I appreciate you doing the tear sheets, Susan. Thank goodness we still have a few paying rs and it’s surprising that our classifieds are holding up.” “That is a blessing. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I hope you can do without me Monday and Tuesday. I volunteered at the school to help distribute the second ration books.” “Of course. Since the boys will be out of school, they’ll be here to help out if anything comes up. Thank you for doing that. I’m sure some people may have used all the stamps in their first book. I’ll pick up the new ones, but we’re fortunate to still have some stamps left in Dove’s book.” Eddie opened the front door and gently closed it behind him as if he were entering his mother’s house. “Good m-morning. It’s warm enough to be a spring day.” He shed his jacket. “M-mother insisted I wear my coat. Regardless of the temperature, s-she says it’s January and that means we wear coats.” Hope said, “She’s set in her ways alright. You’re kind to respect her wishes, Eddie.” Marty returned from an errand. “Hi, Everybody.” He stepped to the playpen where Dove was standing, holding on to the side. “Dovey, when are you gonna break loose from these bars? It’s time you put in for a parole from the warden.” His mother turned toward them. “Don’t give her any ideas, Marty. I know she’s too big to be locked up, but I can’t watch her every minute if she has free rein here in the office.” Marty said, “I’ll watch her, for a while anyway.” He lifted her out of the playpen.

Hope said, “Well, okay. We’ll see how it goes if you promise to keep an eye on her. I’ve got to print Mr. Cage’s business cards.” Susan said, “I’ll look around for anything she can get into.” She strolled around the counter and display shelves. Winn raced in as if he were running on eight cylinders. “You’ll never guess who gave me an ad.” Marty said, “Can’t guess, Pop. Who?” “Mr. Thompson—a big ad for his insurance company. A lovely, paid-in-advance ad.” Dove padded toward him. He picked her up and twirled her around as jubilant as if he just crossed the finish line. Marty’s hand flew out, palm up. “My teacher’s husband?” “One in the same, he’s one of the richest men in town. How’s them apples?” Hope said, “I love them apples, Winn.” Susan said, “Mr. Patrick tried to get him to for years. How did you manage getting blood out of that turnip, Winn?” He set Dove on the floor. She squealed and scampered around as if her tether had been severed. “I was having my usual at the Coffee Cup with the old-timers when Thompson came in. Leonard invited him to us and to my surprise he did. It seems Thompson and Leonard go way back. I continued my morning ritual of spouting a few humorous stories.” Winn turned toward Marty. “ me telling you about choosing to walk on the happy side of life? People enjoy a good laugh, and it makes them feel good around you.” Eddie and his mop made it to the partition. “Your jokes m-made him buy an ad?” “Not just that, Eddie. Everybody was in a jovial mood and Leonard put in a good word for me. I told Thompson I’d like to run a feature on him and his insurance company—you know, how he got started and all. Well that tickled his whiskers. A couple others said they had good results from their ad in the Tribune and lo and behold, Thompson said he’d place an ad along with the article. I drew out some ad copy on a napkin, told him the price for a three column by six, and he

took out his wallet.” Winn pulled the cash out of his pocket and slapped it on the counter. Susan giggled. “I love being around all of you. I can always expect the unexpected. Marty said. “But Mrs. Sims, if you expect the unexpected doesn’t that make the unexpected expected?” She thought on that a moment. “That’s true, Marty. But I never know what to expect the unexpected to be!” Hope smiled. “Well, I expect I better get to work on those business cards. Keep this partition gate closed so little feet don’t escape into the land of machinery.”

In the February 24, 1944 issue of the Tribune, Winn wrote an article about The World Day of Prayer sponsored by the New York United Council of Church Women. The next evening, Hope hurriedly buttoned her olive colored dress. “I’m glad Mayor Brooks proclaimed Taft will participate in the day of prayer. We better shake a leg. I want to get a good seat.” He said, “I’m tying Dove’s shoes—again. Every church in town is invited for the program. I hope the school auditorium is large enough to accommodate a crowd.” Hope picked up Dove’s cape and cap. “Let’s hope there is a crowd.” Their walk to the school brought them there in time to get seats half way back in the middle. They saved a seat for Eddie and he found them right away. Hope looked toward the doors where people were pouring in. “I’m amazed. It looks like everyone in town is coming.” On stage above the dark green velveteen curtains a gold circle encomed the letters, THS, for Taft High School on the pleated valance. As the curtains opened, Hope searched the band . She found Billy’s tuba—the first of three bass players. Marty stood by his snare drum in the percussion section

twirling his drum sticks. On the first few notes of The Star Spangled Banner, the audience stood. They remained standing for the Pledge of Allegiance lead by the president of the senior class. The mayor gave a welcoming speech and turned the program over to the First Baptist Church pastor, Clovis Childers. “On behalf of the Taft ministerial alliance, I’m honored to welcome you to this interdenominational observance of the World Day of Prayer. Each of you, by your presence tonight, is binding together in a fellowship of intercession with every believer in almighty God on every continent of this war-torn world.” Pastor Childers took in the audience who filled every seat in the auditorium plus numerous people standing in the back and along the sides. “The theme of this day is ‘And the Lord wondered that there was no intercessor,’ taken from Isaiah 59:16. We will not make the Lord wonder tonight if there is no intercessor, we are here as intercessors, humbling ourselves before His throne to pray for wars’ end, peace, and restoration.” After a message concerning Biblical references of prayer, the pastor introduced, Father Merino from All Saints Catholic Church to give the closing benediction. The band director then lead the students in America the Beautiful. The audience stood and sang along. Many were unashamed of the tears rolling down their cheeks.

On June 6th, Americans sat by their radio listening to the prayer of President Franklin Roosevelt amidst a monumental operation of our troops and allies crossing the channel toward Normandy Beach for the invasion of German occupied . The Prichard family was somber with the enormity of the vision Roosevelt painted of our military bravely confronting the enemy on European shores. Winn swiped a hand across his cheeks. “My eyes seem to be leaking. So many lives involved.” Hope’s head was bowed. Marty sat on the rough wood floor keeping Dove occupied with a stack of blocks. Billy said, “Gosh, Pop, that’s good news isn’t it? Doesn’t that mean we’re closing in on Hitler?’

“Could be, Son. It’s a mighty big maneuver.” He stood. “Let’s hope and pray it’s successful.” The radio was silenced and the children went to bed. Late in the night, Hope was restless listening to Winn snore. How could he fall asleep so quickly knowing what’s happening in Europe tonight, or the horrors going on in the Pacific? She elbowed him. He obediently turned on his side, never waking. Her eyes groped the darkness for a moment before easing off the bed. She silently walked to the kitchen and looked out the window to the vacant lot below. Lord God, thank you for loving us, for the freedom we have. Thank you that Billy and Marty can play ball, go to school, be in the band, and go to church. I’m grateful they want to work with us in the shop. She leaned on the sill. But, oh Jesus, there are mothers who have children fighting for our freedom right now. They don’t know where they are, if they’re hurt or dying in some foreign land alone and afraid. Comfort them – the parents and their children. Be with Buford out there somewhere, protect him. Ease the heart of Mama and Fayella in their worry about him. Billy tiptoed beside her. “Whatcha looking at, Mom?” Hope put her arm around his shoulders and sighed. “I’m looking at the needs of our fighting boys and the worry of their moms and dads. But I’m also looking at the goodness of the Lord, how we can turn to Him and know He hears our prayers.” He stared out into the darkness and spoke softly. “You really believe God is on our side?” “He’s on the side of all people, Billy, but He judges wrongdoing and those who cause upheaval and start wars. Many times in the Bible, God’s people fought to protect their land. Some miraculous things happened because of prayer and obedience.” “Last Sunday, our lesson was about Joshua and the battle of Jericho. That was a miracle.” “It was, and there are many more. We have to trust that God has a plan to tear down the walls of our enemy. I believe in miracles, Billy.” She turned him around and guided him toward his bedroom. “Things are hard for us to

understand. I’m sure Joshua’s army didn’t know how marching around the walls was going to defeat their enemy, but they trusted and that’s what we have to do. We’re praying and we mustn’t be afraid.” In the dim moonlight she saw his smile. “I’m not afraid, Mom. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t.” Her concerns became liquid, draining to the floor and out the window into the night. She hugged him tightly. He crawled back in bed beside sleeping Marty. Hope slowly walked to her room. He’s so mature, responsible, and caring for fourteen. Thank you, Lord.

I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

—Psalm 91:2

39

September, 1944 —

A t Sunday dinner, Priscilla forked a small bite. “Ruby Louise called this meatloaf, but it’s more like a bread crumb loaf, I haven’t found much meat in it.” Hope said, “It’s seasoned well and the Mexican corn is tasty.” “Hmph,” Priscilla smirked. “Speaking of Mexicans, I couldn’t get to sleep last night with those farm workers carrying on with their music.” Billy said, “I like their music, Grandmother. I didn’t think you could hear them from over here. You’re two blocks away.” “Their camp is right next us.” Marty spoke up. “And they don’t keep me awake. Maybe you just don’t appreciate guitar strummin’ and Spanish singin’.” Their grandmother’s eyebrows raised half way up her brow. “Precisely, young man, especially not at all hours of the night.” Winn pushed his plate away. “The marshal has them shut it down around ten, Mother. Surely you can drown out the noise with the radio until then.” “So now I’m supposed to play my radio all week-end so I don’t have to listen to amateur musicians.” She threw her napkin on the table. “And turn up the volume every weekday before and after school to drown out the band. They sound like they are marching across my yard. The cadence of the drums is deafening.” Marty’s face brightened. “Wow, that’s me you hear at practice, Grandmother.” Billy said, “Just wait ‘til Friday night when we have a home game. The stadium is just down the street.” “I traded bats in my attic for Mexican music and a marching band. God help

me.” Priscilla pushed away from the table. Eddie jumped to pull her chair out. “But, M-mother, we should be proud of the boys for being in the school band. I know Daddy would be.” She twisted her head around so fast some hair pins flew out of her bun. “How dare you confront me with how your father would be feeling? I do know he would be sympathetic to my dilemmas, which is more than I can say for any of you.” Her gaze washed over those seated like a typhoon flooding them with tainted salt water. Winn stood and put a hand under her elbow to guide her to her room. “You’re tired, Mother. Since you got so little rest last night, lie down and take a nap.” Gathering the dishes, Hope said, “That’s right, Mother Prichard, we’ll clean up the kitchen.” Under her breath she added, “Like we do every Sunday.”

The next Saturday afternoon, Billy’s forehead wrinkled until his scar by his eyebrow turned red. “Marty, you idiot. What are you thinking? You know Mom’s gonna figure out you stole that chicken.” Marty held a squawking hen under his arm. “I’ll tell her it was just out for an afternoon stroll and looked like he needed to be in Mom’s fryin’ pan. You know how good her fried chicken is. Come on, Billy, don’t tell.” “I won’t have to, she’ll see right through you.” They hurried along the alley to the back door of the shop. Balk, ba, ba, balk. The chicken made her presence known. Winn turned from the work table. “What do you have there, Boys?” Billy said, “Not me. That’s all Marty’s doing.” He backed away from any appearance of evil. Hope was halfway down the stairs when she heard the noise coming from the shop. “What …?” Before she could ask, Marty said, “Mom, this here chicken was down at the end

of the alley lookin’ kinda lost. I thought about what a good cook you are and how long it’s been since we had fried chicken, so I brought it home.” He thrust it toward her. Her mouth flew open but her vocal cords seemed frozen and she looked at Winn for help. He said, “Marty, chickens don’t usually stray far from their coop around town.” Hope found her voice and it was accompanied by angry suspicion. “Martin Prichard, the only chickens anywhere close to us belongs to Mr. Pickens.” Marty held up the hen. “This doesn’t look like one of Mr. Pickens chickens.” Billy’s head jerked in surprise. “Why not?” “’Cause, it’s so puny. Mr. Pickens chickens are fat. I think maybe this chicken strayed from out in the country somewhere. We’ll never know where.” Hope grabbed Marty’s arm with a grip so tight, his knees buckled. “Well, we’ll just see about that, young man.” She marched him out the door and down the alley. Billy followed just to witness the confrontation and watch Marty squirm. Mr. Pickens’ house was three blocks from the shop and just before they made it there, Marty ‘dropped’ the chicken. The creature ran with outstretched wings as if willing itself to fly. Balk, ba, ba, balk. Billy and Hope took out after it and Marty made a feeble attempt to chase it. Mr. Pickens was in the yard and hearing the familiar cry, hurried to in the chase. The chicken was evidently aware of get-away tactics and out maneuvered her pursuers, running in zig-zag fashion until it reached the coop in the back yard. It tried to jump the high chicken wire waking all her feathered friends who squawked a chorus loud enough to reach hen heaven. Billy cornered the chicken, caught it and handed the frightened out-of-her-mind fowl to the rightful owner. Winded, Hope managed to take a breath deep enough to talk. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pickens, but my son, Martin …” She looked around and pulled him from behind her. “Martin has something to say to you.” Her eyes pierced Marty’s so direct; there was no mistaking her message or his assigned mission. “Uh, Mr. Pickens. I … I stole your chicken. I’m real sorry.”

The man moseyed to the coop gate and set the hen inside where it ran in circles, welcomed by her compadres. Mr. Pickens turned to Marty. “You snatched her from the coop, Boy?” Marty swallowed a great big gulp of guilt and felt it hit his stomach. He looked up at the tall man and met sorrowful eyes. “Yes, Sir.” “You were gonna eat her?” Another gulp. “Yes, Sir.” “She’s one of my best layers.” “I’m sure sorry, Mr. Pickens. I won’t ever do it again.” He turned. “Guess I need to put a lock on the gate. I know there’s hungry folks around.” He gave Marty the once over. “You don’t look like you’re starvin’.” “No, Sir.” Marty studied his shoes like he was surprised they were on his feet. Mr. Pickens spit tobacco juice. It made dark splatters in the dry ground. “You oughtn’t take what ain’t yours when you don’t even need it.” Hope said, “He’s been taught not to take from others even if there is a need, Mr. Pickens. I apologize for this and Martin is in for a whipping he won’t forget.” Marty’s shoulders slumped. The man nodded and walked across his dirt yard to his house. Hope’s embarrassment and anger pinched Marty’s ear so tight he couldn’t help but cry out in spite of his brother witnessing the entire painful event. She drug him a few steps before releasing her hold. “That was some trick, letting that chicken go and making us have to run after it.” Billy said, “Yeah, it was like a Marx brother’s skit. I felt really dumb chasing a squawking chicken. What were you trying to do, get rid of the evidence?” Marty’s scornful eye toward Billy was his answer. At the shop, Winn was filled in on the incident. He said, “Ok, Marty, let’s go upstairs for that whipping.” He began to unfasten his belt.

Hope pushed Marty away from Winn. “Oh no, you don’t. You’ll get up there and tell Marty to holler every time you hit his bed with the belt like you did last time I left the whipping up to you. Come on Marty.” Billy started to follow, but Winn grabbed his shirttail. Billy leaned against the work table and folded his arms across his chest. Concern framed his face. “He’s gonna get the dickens for stealing Mr. Pickens chicken.” A smile threatened to cross Winn’s lips, but sympathy for Marty prevented it. “A chicken lickin’, sure nuff.” They both stared at the stairway. In the bedroom, Hope found a belt. “Take down those pants.” She sounded scarier than Marty’s teacher, Mrs. Thompson. Marty slipped his pants to his knees. He sniffed. “Mom, I won’t steal anything again.” “You won’t if I have anything to say about it. You stole that chicken and lied. You know I won’t tolerate that kind of behavior.” She was shaking now, but not from anger. Her countenance revealed the sick feeling in her heart. Trembling, Marty bent over the side of his parent’s bed and whimpered when the belt slapped against his undershorts. He barely felt the next blow and realized it wasn’t his cries he heard, but his mother’s. He looked up to see her anguished tear-stained face. She said, “Marty, oh, Marty.” He grabbed her around the neck and held on for dear life feeling her chest heave. He blubbered, “I’m sorry, Mom. I wouldn’t want to make you sad for the world. I promise I won’t steal anything ever again – honest Injun.” Patting his back, she said, “The Bible says if we spare the rod, we spoil the child.” He pulled away to look into her eyes. “I’m not spoiled, Mom, you know I’m not. I really didn’t think about it, I was just thinking about a fried chicken dinner.” “It was selfish. You put what you wanted above what you knew was right.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I learned my lesson. I’m sorry.” His eyes revealed it was so. “This is a whippin’ I’ll never forget.”

Nodding, she stood. “Pull up your pants and go wash your face and hands.” He trotted off. Hope hung up the belt and said, “Get the ration book and go across the street to the grocery store and tell Mr. Murdoch to find a good fryer for our supper.”

An ounce of love is worth a pound of punishment.

40

November 1944 —

H ope slowly walked up the steep stairs holding Dove, now three-years-old. She sat Dove in her room amidst a pile of small toys. The boys were at the football game. Hope was tired—tired of scrimping to pay bills and tired of war news. She stood by the large window in the kitchen and allowed her soul to be calmed by the cotton patch clouds sailing across the sky. The incalculable height and width of it seemed to bring peace and comfort of God’s omniscience. She sighed and went about preparing supper.

When they finished eating, Winn leaned back in the chair. “Sugar, you look worried. What’s troubling you?” “It just seems the war is never going to end. I can’t stand to read about the deaths, the missing, the prisoners, and the wounded. Fayella’s last letter said Buford is unharmed, but that could change in an instant.” “I know, but now that Paris is liberated, things are looking up. Victory could be in the news any time now.” He stood and walked to her chair. She held out her arm to wrap around his neck as he leaned to give her a kiss. Glancing toward the window, she took in a breath. “Look at the sky, Winn.” She stood holding his hand and walked to the window. “The clouds are the color of pink cotton candy. Earlier it was pure white, now it’s totally different. The sunset is so beautiful. God’s creation truly reveals His majesty.” Winn stood behind her with his arms encoming her slender frame. He nestled his face in her sweet smelling hair, kissing her head, her temple and turned her around for a ionate kiss on her lips. Her arms held him tightly. She said, “Oh, Winn, sometimes I can be such a crybaby.”

“No you’re not, Sugar. You’re full of faith. Sometimes God has to remind you, that’s all. He slaps a colorful sunset right dab in the middle of your window so you can see it, knowing you’re sensitive to His blessings. Try not to worry. His plan will come about in His time.” He chuckled. “Listen to me; you’re usually the one preaching to me.” She poked him in the shoulder. “Preach on, Pastor Prichard. I like your sermons.” She looked at the sky again, now the pink clouds had darkened to magenta with the sun settling in for the night behind the horizon.

A week before Thanksgiving —

“No, Mama, I’m so sorry, but we won’t be able to make it this year.” Dove stood by the desk batting the phone cord back and forth. “Oh, yes, we’re all fine and keeping busy. Dove jabbers all the time, but we can only understand a few words.” Hope stroked the child’s straight light brown hair. “I’m hoping we can take a trip over there after the holidays. Is Papa doing okay?” Susan came in the office with a shiver from the cold. Seeing Hope on the phone, she gave a little wave and took off her coat. Hope moved to stand by the side of the desk and continued. “Has he seen Doc Stuart about it? I hear gout can be pretty bad if you don’t watch what you eat. Oh, dear, he’s so stubborn. You tell him if he doesn’t behave I’ll get after him myself.” She laughed. “I know, he never listens to me or anyone else. Just give my love to him and everybody. I love you too, Mama. Bye.” Susan picked up Dove and sat her on her lap while studying Hope’s face. “How’s your family?” Hope lingered by the desk. “I always get homesick when I hear Mama’s voice. She’s so full of love; it just seems to bubble over the phone. She says Papa has the gout so bad he can hardly walk. That’s why he didn’t go to the filling station to take my call. He finally agreed to see the doctor. That means he must be feeling poorly.” Her hand wiped away the watery trickle from her eye and gave her head a little shake to return to her business mode. She stepped to the partition and turned to replace the little gate. “Don’t let her get in your hair.”

“This sweet thing? Never.” Dove reached for the desk drawer where Susan kept crackers. “Okay, you little beggar.” Susan gave her two, one for each hand and let her loose to wander at will in the office.

Winn was jubilant about President Roosevelt’s unprecedented win for a fourth term and splashed a large headline with the news across the front page. After Thanksgiving things began to pick up at the shop with Hope’s Christmas card printing and display ads in the paper. The Christmas issue was jam packed with advertising, the largest edition yet. They gave Susan a bonus over the meager salary they had begun to pay her. Billy and Marty were showing interest in photography. Winn bartered advertising with a large Corpus Christi jewelry store for an Eastman Kodak Folding Camera with a flash. The only problem was—they had to share it. They made a chart showing which days it would be used by each of them. Billy said, “I can’t wait to take a picture of the debate team at their meet with Sinton.” Marty looked over the camera instructions. “How is a picture printed in the paper, Pop?” Winn picked up an engraving of an engagement announcement. “The photograph of this couple was sent to Gulf Engraving Company in Corpus. They made an engraving in metal and mounted it on a block of wood to make it the height of the type for reproduction.” “That’s down right groovy.” Marty focused through the camera and pretended to snap photos around the shop. “You can take pictures of the boring old debate, Billy, and I’ll take pictures of the cheerleaders.”

All was going well—too well. It seemed when things were as smooth as a publication with no errors, Winn jumbled the copy and put a kink in production by pulling a bender. Just before closing on New Year’s Eve, Winn seemed antsy. “Billy, tell Mom not to wait supper for me, I’ll be late.” Looking up from the linotype, Billy said, “Where are you going, Pop?”

With an arm half way in his jacket, he grabbed his hat with the other. “I have to check on some things.” He was out the door. Billy stared at the keyboard for a moment before locking up shop. ing Hope and his siblings upstairs, he said, “Mom.” She turned to see a forlorn Billy. “What is it?” “Pop told me to tell you he won’t be home for supper. He’ll be late.” With a half-startled, half-knowing wariness, Hope slowly sat at the table. She twisted the dishrag. “I’d like to wring his neck.” Marty said, “Are you going to hammer the door shut again, Mom?” She put her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her hand as if contemplating the notion. “If he reared back to knock the door down, he’d probably tumble backwards down the stairs and break his head open. Then we’d have to get the paper out ourselves.” “We could do it.” Billy said. She threw the rag toward the counter, it fell on the floor. Dove evidently thought it was a game. She giggled, picked it up, scampered within a few feet of Hope, and tried to toss it back. Hope stooped to hug her. “The Lord knew what He was doing when He gave me you three. I have no doubt we could get the paper printed, but let’s hope we don’t have to.” After supper, Hope said, “You boys go ahead to the twin’s party, but I want you home by twelve-thirty.” “You don’t mind being alone?” Billy said. Marty piped up, “She won’t be alone, Dove’s here. That is unless she’s going to a New Year’s Eve party I don’t know about.” He took her out of the high chair. “You have plans tonight, Dovey girl?” Hope gazed at the boys with motherly pride. “Dove and I will be fine. I’ll listen to the Guy Lombardo Band bring in the New Year at the Roosevelt Hotel in New Orleans like I’ve done many times.” She stacked the dishes. “Go on and get

ready.” They dashed to the bathroom. Their mother yelled. “By the way, which one of you likes which twin?” Marty hollered back. “Sometimes I like Samantha and sometimes I like Savanna.” “But isn’t that confusing?” Billy came in the kitchen tucking in his clean shirt. “They like to make it confusing by pretending to be the other one, but we have ‘um figured out.” Marty said, “Yeah, Samantha has two more freckles on her nose than Savanna. We just have to make sure they stay in the light until we see which one we’re, uh, we’re talkin’ to.” Hope said, “You mean flirting with.” “Yep, that too.” Marty headed for the stairs. Billy gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek. “Happy New Year, Mom, and Dove.”

The boys had been in bed a good hour before they heard Winn’s drunken stagger on each step, becoming louder as he ascended. Hope, in her nightgown and bare feet, met him in the kitchen. “I’m glad to see that you made it home on your own this time.” He swayed and put a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t wake the kids.” “Is that what you were thinking when you stomped your way up the stairs? Or you just don’t want to hear what I have to say to you?” “N-n-now, Sugar, I always want to hear what you have to say, but I would (hic) be most obliged if you could wait ‘til I get some sleep.” Hope pushed him and he staggered back. “You’ll get some sleep all right. You’ll

be snoring without a care about me or the kids while I’ll be lying awake wondering when you’ll ever stop drinking.” Avoiding her, he walked around the kitchen table, holding on to chairs. His movements were sluggish like the slow motion portrayal of a sports play in the newsreels. “No need to wonder, Sugar. (hic) The drinking has stopped.” Under his breath, he said, “For the night.” The comment brought a wounded look to her eyes, but he didn’t see it. He went headlong to the bed and flopped full-weight across it. Hope walked to the couch and sank into the horsehair cushion. Lying on her stomach, her head plopped on her crooked arm. With the ebon darkness pushing around her, she cried tears of painful reality. It seemed Winn was never going to stop drinking and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it except pray. Billy and Marty both silently turned in bed to face the wall.

Suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope.

Romans 5: 3, 4

41

January 1945 —

T he day after Winn’s escapade, everyone went about their business as if all was hunky-dory in the New Year. Hope determined after seventeen years of marriage, no amount of crying or threatening would curtail Winn’s aim to get drunk if he had a mind to. Hope sat at the desk stuffing statements into envelopes. Only God can change him, because Lord knows I’ve tried. Winn knows how I feel about it and he knows the boys are aware of his drinking. Looks to me like that alone would be enough to make him stop. I’ve never understood what brings it on. If he were an out and out drunk, he’d drink all the time, but he just goes on a binge every now and then. She sighed and licked an envelope, pounding it with a slap as if it would fly away if not thoroughly affixed. On the radio Arthur Godfrey strummed his ukulele. For the thousandth time, his low voice warbled, “I wanna go back to my little grass shack.” Just then, a news commentator burst in. Hope looked at the radio with expectancy. Every time a bulletin flashed, her mind conjured thoughts of armistice—or a dreaded alternative. Hearing the news of the Russians liberating a concentration camp called Auschwitz, she turned to the back shop. “Winn, come here!” Her call was loud enough for him to look up from the linotype. He switched off the machine and hurried to the radio. They listened in rapt comion as the broadcaster described the horrors found. “Our allies, the Russian Army, discovered a concentration and extermination camp in Auschwitz, a Nazi German occupied area of Poland. This camp was the destination of transport trains that carried enemies of the Reich. The camp’s gas chambers were Hitler’s ‘final solution’ for disposing of the Jewish race.”

Hope slumped across the desk, her head in her hands. “When will it ever end?” Winn rubbed her back. His face contorted. “The cruelty is unimaginable. Those poor, poor souls.” The phone jangled, making Hope jump. Winn answered. It was Priscilla. “Calm down, Mother. That was good news, the Russians are our allies, and they’re advancing toward the Germans. Where’s Eddie?” Eddie breezed through the front door bundled up as if he just blew in from Alaska. Winn said, “Oh, he just came in. Believe me, finding that camp was a good thing. The poor people there were rescued. Quit worrying.” He paused and gave Eddie a nod and then spoke into the phone. “Mother, finish listening to Godfrey. Ruby Louise should be there any minute. Call if she doesn’t show up soon.” Hope stood. “Good morning, Eddie. We just heard some disturbing news on the radio, Mother must’ve heard too.” She went on to explain the announcement to him. Eddie leaned on the counter as far as his padding would allow. “Oh my Lord, what devils they are to starve and kill those people. They will be punished in hell forever.” He pulled off his knit cap and rubbed his thinning hair as if he were covered in lice like the prisoners of war.

After school, the boys came in the shop like a whirlwind of indignation. Billy said, “Pop, did you hear about the Russians finding a prison where the Germans tortured people?” Marty’s eyes betrayed the fear behind them. “It was a place called Ouch Witch or somethin’. Do you think we can whip the Germans before they come over here and lock us up?” Hope put her arm around Marty, “The Russians and other countries in Europe are fighting with us to wipe them out. We have to believe the Germans will surrender soon.” “They’re closing in on them.” Winn patted Billy on the shoulder. “The Russians

advanced close enough to find the camp. They’ll keep pushing the enemy back until the Germans have no place to go but to give up. Keep the faith, Boys.” Eddie leaned on the partition listening. Billy said, “Did you hear about it Uncle Eddie?” “Yes.” Downcast never looked so sad. “I heard and f-feel sick to think of the suffering.” Eddie wiped a hand across his face and then softly said, “I wonder where Luther is?” Winn reached out to give him a brotherly punch in the arm. “Ah, don’t you know Luther’s just fine. He always scrapes through and will probably show up when you least expect him.” “I know. B-but hearing about the people in those camps, separated from their family, not knowing if they’re dead, got me thinking about Luther.” Billy said, “Gosh, Uncle Eddie, he’s probably all right.” He looked at his daddy for affirmation. Winn gave Eddie a pat on the shoulder. “Sure Eddie, all this has opened up worries that you can’t do anything about. Why don’t you head on over to the picture show after supper. A movie always lifts your spirit.” A little smile made the lines around his eyes crinkle. “O-okay, I’ll do that—and pray.”

All over America, in sprawling urban areas, jerk-water burgs like Taft, farms and cattle ranches, the war effort was accelerated with vast determination. Red Cross workers and other specially trained personnel continued serving wherever they were needed. Boy scouts filled their wagons with metal and paper. Ordinary men and women in assembly plants, shipyards, and government offices, tirelessly performed their duty for our fighting patriots. The country’s heartbeat throbbed furiously, pushing, building, transporting with teamwork toward victory. They were like busy ants climbing a mound with their contribution no matter how menial. An unrelenting vow to win and to get their loved ones safely home was paramount. The labor had been too long, too many had been lost. They longed for freedom like a woman giving birth. She yearns to hold her baby, to feel relief

from her agony, to see the fruition of her dream. The United States and her allies were beyond ready for victory. It was time to liberate their captives, bring unity within their families, and allow the broken-hearted to lay to rest their loved ones whom had fallen. It was time once again to see Old Glory waving proudly ‘O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave’! However, the enemy was relentless. At the picture show, between cartoons of Mickey Mouse and shoot-um-up westerns, news reels of the Holocaust showed emaciated, large eyed beings in black and white striped rags. They loomed as if they were aliens staring at a forgotten world. The images ignited America’s will to overcome.

The Taft Tribune



Taft, Texas April 12, 1945


President Franklin Delano Roosevelt is dead

As The Tribune goes to press this Thursday afternoon, the shocking news of the death of our President is being broadcast over all the world. President

Franklin D. Roosevelt died unexpectedly at 3:35 p.m. today in Warm Springs, Georgia. Cause of death was a cerebral hemorrhage. Mr. Roosevelt sat in front of the fireplace in the Little House atop Pine Mountain where the incident occurred. His last words were, “I have a terrible headache.” He went to Warm Springs three weeks ago to rest. Mr. Roosevelt was 62 years of age and in the third month of his fourth term as President. He was the Nation’s chief executive during twelve of the most momentous years in its history. Details of his interment will be forthcoming. It is expected that his body will be returned to Washington immediately and his burial will be in the family plot at Hyde Park, New York. Vice-president Harry S. Truman was sworn in as President two hours and 24 minutes after Mr. Roosevelt’s death. Truman is the Nation’s 23rd president and is faced with a vast undertaking. His first official act was to declare a thirty day period of mourning for the man who had been president for more than twelve years. May God bestow comfort to the Roosevelt family and give President Truman wisdom to lead us on to victory.

April 30, 1945 —

Only weeks after Truman took the seat of presidency, news surged through the wires from the Fuehrer’s bunker near Berlin. Adolf Hitler’s burned remains were discovered. The feared Fuehrer, creator of chaos, demon of destruction, was dead by his own hand and orders to set his body aflame had been carried out. “Hooray, the war is over! Ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead!” Marty waved his hands in the air. Billy asked, “It does mean the war with is over, doesn’t it, Pop?” Winn answered, “According to the 1943 conference Churchill had with Roosevelt, it will only be over with total surrender of the enemy.”

Hope’s hands were clasped so tight at her chest her knuckles were white. “But surely will surrender now with Hitler dead.” Winn scratched his ear. “Seems like it. Their military has been depleting and their morale will surely go south with their leader gone. I don’t think there’s anyone standing in the shadows to take his place. But until they regroup or whatever they’re going to do in , maybe we can put a stronger effort toward Japan.” Billy said, “Now without Hitler our guys can mow ‘um down like spraying flies with a pump can.” Marty made them laugh when he pretended to pump a spray can while dodging bullets. On the seventh of May, Eddie bounded in the office shouting, “They surrendered —totally surrendered! The war is over in Europe! Praise God!” Winn grabbed Hope and swung her around right there in the middle of the office in front of old Miss Berkley who stood holding her minutes from the Tally-Ho Bridge Club. Susan ran around the counter and hugged Miss Berkley, swaying like she was dancing to ‘Puttin’ On The Ritz’. Miss Berkley’s arms hung stiffly at her side, and her eyes kept blinking like a fluorescent bulb trying to wake up and light the room. Susan stopped swaying and looked square in her dance partner’s flabbergasted face. “Miss Berkley, our boys will be coming home. Giles may be coming home soon.” She squeezed the lady’s shoulders. Miss Berkley stopped blinking as the bulb in her brain turned on and the impact of ’s surrender finally hit her. “Well, well, I declare.” She turned to Eddie. “Is it true? They really surrendered?” His vigorous nod verified that his announcement was indeed a fact. “That means—that means my nephew, Horace will be…” She left her minutes on the counter and rushed out the screen door. The foursome watched through the window as she trotted along the sidewalk with ample hips jiggling.

The postman trudged to the counter. “Here’s a letter addressed to The Taft Tribune, Taft, Texas. No street address, everybody knows where the newspaper is.”

Winn stood from the desk to greet him and took the letter. “Morning, Otis. Yes, I guess a newspaper plant is known by most folks in a small town.” Hope walked from her shelves across the office. Otis said, “Hello, Mrs. Prichard.” He hesitated, awkwardly—looked at the missive in Winn’s hand and then back at his face. Otis waited as if curious for Winn to open the letter. “Well, that was a good write up about that Taft boy getting the Bronze Arrowhead.” He stood for a moment, then after an unexpected silence, took a step backward. He tipped his wide brimmed hat and adjusted his mailbag. “Sure glad he made it through D-Day,” he stated awkwardly as he slowly made his way back out the door. Hope stood beside Winn. She said, “He acted kind of strange.” They gazed at the return address. She said, “Huntsville State Prison?” Winn reached for the letter opener. “Oh, he must’ve been waiting for a response when we saw where this is from.” They read in silence. He folded it neatly and put it in the envelope. “I’ll give this to Eddie. He and Mother need to know where Luther is.” “Eddie mentioned Luther recently. You were right when you told him we would hear from him.” She rubbed his shoulder. “At least we know Luther’s alive and getting meals.”

For three months, America’s ear strained to hear of actions in Asia. The world waited in unbelief of Japan’s tenacity. Despite being ravaged by Allied bombings and defeats across the Pacific, the Japanese refused to surrender. On August 6th, the U.S. literally brought out the big guns. The first atomic bomb was dropped in Hiroshima initially wiping out an estimated ninety percent of the population, and the rest days later from burns and radiation. Three days later the A-bomb annihilated Nagasaki. Japan’s Emperor Hirohito announced unconditional surrender on August 15th and the Japanese government signed the instrument of surrender on September 2nd effectively ending WWII.

Walking home from the Texas Theater after seeing The Yearling, Hope and Winn

walked side by side, hand in hand. Dove toddled along in front of them between her big brothers. Hope said, “What a wonderful movie.” “You love any movie Gregory Peck is in.” Winn said squeezing her hand. Her eyes danced in the glow of the street lights, now shining out of the shadows of blackouts. “I guess you’re right about that. I haven’t seen him in anything I didn’t like.” Marty said, “Oh, Mom, you like all movies.” He glanced at Billy who was unusually quiet. “What’s eatin’ you, Bub? I bet you cried when Jody had to give up his pet deer.” “Did not.” Billy swept hair off his forehead. “I’m thinking about that newsreel. That bomb our guys dropped on the Japanese people made a giant mushroom of dirt or something way up in the sky. Do you think it went as far underground as the smoke went up?” “Wow, I didn’t think of that,” replied Marty as he grabbed Dove’s hand to prevent her from stumbling on the uneven sidewalk. Winn said, “I don’t think so but we have no way of knowing for sure. That cloud was probably a combination of very explosive chemicals and a whole lot of earth blown sky high.” Hope’s eyes changed from the reflection of laughter to sadness. “I try not to think how terrible it must’ve been. So many innocent people died because of the stubbornness of the Japanese leader. It’s hard to weigh out in my mind if stopping the war by killing innocent men, women and children was the right thing to do.” “I’m sure it will be debated for many years to come. I’m glad I didn’t have to make that decision,” Winn said. “But just think Mom, Uncle Buford will be coming home!” Billy exclaimed. “I’m thankful that he is returning as well as Giles and all the Taft boys. I imagine things will be very different for them after all they’ve been through,” sighed Hope.

Marty did a little jig. “How ya gonna keep ‘um down on the farm after they’ve seen Paree? Or, how ya gonna keep ‘um down in Taft?” Winn said, “I think they’ll be so happy to get home, they won’t want to leave— for a while anyway. My guess is, those men and women who return will forever be grateful they made it through. It’ll also take time for the memories of the ones who didn’t make it aback to fade.”

When you arise each morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive, to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.

42

Johnny Comes Marching Home —

T aft had the largest, most wide-spread party in its history in one spontaneous eruption of emotion. As the train carrying their precious servicemen stopped at the Taft depot and twenty or so men in uniform stepped out on to their hometown street, they were greeted by thunderous applause and the Taft High School band playing The Star-Spangled Banner. After many hugs and kisses with loved ones, the local heroes were rounded up by Mayor Brooks for a victory march along Green Street. They proudly strutted behind the band to the sounds of When Johnny Comes Marching Home. Mrs. Berkley’s nephew, Horace, was being proudly pushed in his wheelchair by his jubilant little brother. An army blanket hid the absence of a leg, but Horace didn’t try to hide his tears. He swung his hat in wide arches over his head as he was wheeled through the street. Susan, Eddie, Winn, and Hope gathered in front of the Tribune building. Folks were wild with excitement! They rang bells, clapped and shouted, clanged pie pans together and anything else they could find to express their jubilation. Gratitude and joy prevailed from all perimeters of town. Dove clapped and waved happily from her momma’s arms with no inkling of why the grown-ups were acting so crazy. Winn stood beside a parked car that had its window down. He reached in and wildly honked the horn, hollering to beat the band. His shouts could be heard above Billy’s bass horn and Marty’s drums as they ed by. Hope pulled Winn’s sleeve and laughed. “You don’t even know who owns this car!” “It belongs to Sal Cohen and I’m sure he doesn’t mind. Look at him jumping up and down!” Tears of gratitude and relief ran down Hope’s face. That morning she had

received a phone call from Buford who had safely returned home to his strawberry farm in East Texas. Hearing her brother’s jovial voice was the salve that healed her worried heart. Giles had opted to remain in the Philippines at the Naval hospital until the wounded boys were well enough to make the trip home. Susan was crying openly as Hope put her arm around her friend and they both stood watching the parade with tears streaming down their faces. The soldiers, some who were boys when they left to serve Uncle Sam, marched as if they were not exhausted from the war, the aftermath, or the arduous journey home. Exhilaration pulled them onward through the town they surely thought about in the dark so far away in foxholes, on ships, creeping through jungles, or flying over enemy lines. A few of the young men had been band only a few years before, now they were being honored by their own footprints it seemed.

The Taft Tribune



Taft, Texas November 8, 1945


Around Town

There is no other community in Texas, and I venture to say, in the Nation where the home boys returning from war are receiving a more genuine welcome than here in Taft. The sincerity of the townsfolk to see their boys back is reflected in happy, smiling faces, bright eyes, and handshakes with as much warmth as the fine Texas sunshine. It’s a thrill to walk down Green Street and see folks greet those men, now in their ‘civies’, who were away from home for one to five years fighting for our freedom and security and the happiness of future generations. It makes me feel mighty proud of our own men who fought honorably in the war and we’re glad they’re back! The Tribune is aware of fifteen men who have returned to the jobs they held before the war. We extend a special thanks to the employers who kept the jobs open for those honest, hardworking men until they returned. Willie Barlow was an aircraft mechanic with the Eighth Air Force Base at Thurleigh First Air Division Station in Great Britain. He has returned to his job at Turner Brothers’ Garage. Here at the Tribune, Chili Sanders has been hired to fill the position as sports editor and all around printer. Chili returns from his service in the Navy and we’re honored to have such a fine young man on staff. It’s been reported across the country that many of our heroes are unable to find work. On the other hand, men and women who held positions across America during the war are now being replaced by returning men leaving many people out of work. Such does not seem to be the case here in Taft. Our townspeople have been loyal to their employees and want to help them adjust to civilian life. It’s the least we can do for those who put their lives on the line for us. We salute you and are glad to have you home. That’s -30-

Susan picked up the phone on the first jangle. “Taft Tribune, this is Susan speaking.” “Hello, this is Rosalie over in Woodsboro. Is Winn there?”

“Yes, I’ll get him.” Marty was typing a school paper at the desk hoping to get extra points from Mrs. Thompson for having a typed report. Looking up at Susan he said, “Is that for Pop?” She nodded. “I’ll get him.” He jumped up and went a few steps and hollered, “Hey, Pop, telephone!” “Well, I could’ve done that,” she chuckled. She handed Winn the phone. “This is Winn Prichard.” He smiled and winked at Marty. “Well, the stars at night are big and bright. How are you, Rosalie?” She giggled. “Fine as the roses in May. How’s everybody?” “Fine, mighty fine.” “I just wanted to hear your voice before I connected you to Mr. Benson. Here he is.” “Sam Benson on this end. Winn are you there?” “Sure ‘nuff. How in the world are you, Sam?” “I’m feeling good enough to let you in on some good news. Roger’s son Wayne is here on furlough. He got a promotion and is going to be a flight instructor at Lowry Air Force Base out in Colorado. He came through all that flying over without a scratch.” “Well, ain’t that something? I bet old Codger is mighty proud.” “You’d think so, but he’s moanin’ and groanin’ about Wayne not staying home instead of taking off again. He acts like he’s running off to do more fighting.” “Some things never change.” Rosalie broke in. “I’m sorry, but I just have to tell you Winn. The Parker boys will be coming home soon. They have to wait for some kind of point system for discharge. Lenora said Harold got bad sick with dysentery, but it kept him out of the fighting for a while. Harvey is recovering from a wound to his shoulder. Anyway, the good thing is they’re all right. And the baby is so cute. You should

see Mr. Upton with her.” “I guess being married and having a family is the thing Eugene needed. I imagine his mother is a proud grandmother. Sure glad to hear about Harvey and Harold.” Marty’s head jerked up from the typewriter. “They’re okay?” Winn nodded and returned to his phone conversation. Marty jumped up to tell Billy about the Parker brothers, but stopped short and turned. “Ask how Hannah’s doing? Does she have a boyfriend?” Winn shushed him. “Uh, by the way, Rosalie, how is Hannah?” He waited and tossed a reassuring glance toward Marty. “Uh-huh, I guess she misses Marty?” Marty studied his daddy’s face. “I see, well, Cornelius is a good boy.” Marty’s eye’s popped wide open. Winn suppressed a smile. “Okay, Rosalie, thanks for the news.” After a moment of Rosalie’s going on about how much she misses Hope, she allowed Sam to speak. They conversed a few more moments. “Same to you, Sam, and give my regards to everybody at Mel’s. Sure miss his hotcakes.” He chuckled as he hung up the phone. “Hannah is dating Corny?” Winn nodded. Marty’s ears were red as Randy Murdoch’s motor scooter. “Can you beat that? My best friend just steals my girl behind my back.” Susan glanced at Winn’s amused look. She said, “How long has it been since you’ve written or talked to her, Marty?” “Well, I haven’t since we left—but that’s outside the point!” Winn said, “Beside the point.” “Beside, outside, inside, or downside, she was my main queen. That Corny— creeping out like a shadow.” Susan thumped a pencil eraser against her chin. “Hmm, I seem to recall, Nicky Sawyer was sweet on Samantha Withers before you moved in.” His mouth twisted to the side and shrugged. “Easy come, easy go. That’s what I always say.” He sat at the desk and appeared to be very interested in his school work.

Winn and Susan exchanged knowing smiles.

Saturday, December 1, 1945 —

Taft’s only fire truck was parked in front of Texas Theater. Volunteer fireman, Chili Sanders climbed the ladder extending from the truck to the top of the light pole and attached one end of a Christmas decoration to it. Billy and Marty stood watching. Marty said, “Hey, Chili, got a match?” Billy punched Marty. “Shut up, Mart.” Without looking down, Chili hollered. “I’ll show you a match when I get down from here, Smarty Marty.” The onlookers laughed. One of the other fireman said, “Don’t bother him, Marty. If he falls, I’ll have to go up there.” Chili said, “So that’s all you’re worried about, never mind if I bust my head open while I’m trying to give y’all some Christmas cheer.” The long tinsel banner with a silver star in the middle would extend across the street. When one end of the banner was secure, he climbed down. “This thing is heavier than it looks. I don’t know why I got elected for this job.” Billy said, “‘Cause you went to war. If you could be a sailor on a big ship, you can put up our street decorations.” Chili stood by the extended ladder while the truck slowly maneuvered to the other side of the street. Mike Rollins leaned on his sheriff’s car parallel parked in the street to block traffic in case there was any. After Chili attached the end of the banner, he waved and started down the ladder, Billy said, “It looks great, Chili.” “That’s good news. Now I only have eight more to go.”

Billy turned to Marty. “I’m going back to the shop and set the copy for our paper. Did you finish your column?” “Exacto facto, it’s in the copy bin. I’m gonna stay and watch for a while.” As Billy hopped on his bike, Marty said, “Tell Mom I’ll be like a vegetable and turnip later.” Billy shook his head. “When are you gonna stop that jive talk—Hep Cat?”

An hour later, Marty buzzed through the office door and shed his jacket and cap in one fast motion. He hurried to the back where Winn stood beside the linotype seemingly enjoying Billy’s proficiency at the keyboard. Marty skidded to a stop. “Pop, you’re not gonna believe it. There’s a shiny, brand new, 1946 Ford in the showroom at Taft Motors.” Billy stopped typing. “Holy smoke. A 1946 car?” Winn said, “There hasn’t been a new car since the war started. It must’ve just arrived.” “Yes Sir, they were movin’ it through the big doors. I went in and asked how much it is and they said it’s nine hundred and fifty dollars.” Grabbing his coat, Winn said, “I need to get the story for this week’s column.” Marty said, “Hey, I need to add that to my column for the kids.” “Too late, Chum. It’s already been set.” A little smirk crossed Billy’s face. “I’m the fastest linotype operator this side of the Mississippi.” “That’s Pop’s line.” Marty clomped toward the stairs and added in a whisper. “It’s probably true, but won’t be after I get the hang of it.”

Monday morning —

“Yes, Reverend Maxwell, we have the capability to print your book. We can do the cover and binding as well.” Winn stood at the front counter discussing the large project of publishing a book of over one hundred pages. “I’ll oversee it personally. It will be an honor for us to print this subject matter.” A bespectacled gentleman held a manuscript in both hands as if too precious to let go. “This has been a work of several years, Mr. Prichard. I believe the Lord inspired me to write it and I surely want it to be done right. I think it’s important for this material to be printed by someone who believes in its message.” “I do indeed believe the Word of God.” He turned and nodded to Hope. “We all do and we’ll do our best to print your study in Revelation.” The Reverend smiled and turned over the manuscript to Winn. “Good, you take your time with it. I’d like to proof the pages as you get them ready.” “Certainly. We’ll work together on it and thank you for the confidence you’ve placed in us.” He leafed through the pages. “I’ll design an appropriate cover; we have a good selection of stock for you to choose from.” Maxwell gave a little bow. “Fine, fine. Call when you have something for me to proof.” He replaced his hat and stepped out into the breezy December morning. Hope moved to the counter and read the top page. “A Study in Revelation by C. L. Maxwell. This is wonderful.” She glanced at a few pages. “I’ve heard good things about him. He’s been at the Church of Christ here for years. We can study this as we print it.”

The Tribune Christmas issue was the largest to date. Twenty-four pages of advertising which were mostly holiday greetings from Taft merchants. The front page featured photos of smiling men in uniform and stories of their whereabouts and honors. Hope’s Christmas card printing business was in full swing, leaving Susan to do most of the gift wrapping for customers. The entire Prichard Family and Chili worked long hours. Winn spent nearly every waking hour at the linotype, accomplishing the work on Reverend Maxwell’s book. Their Christmas was the happiest and most abundant they ever had. Winn and Eddie built the boys a dark room where they could develop their own film.

Developing equipment was what they wanted and that’s what they got. Billy and Marty took turns taking pictures while they sat on the floor beside the lighted tree to open their presents. The aroma from a pot of apple cider on the stove gave the room a wintery feel on the unseasonably mild evening. When Dove opened a box with a baby doll, she stared as if she wasn’t sure whether to hug it or poke it to see if it was real. Marty lifted it and its eyes opened. Dove blinked in surprise and when he tilted it back, a sound like ‘maamaa’ came from its tummy. It took a moment for her to warm up to the rosy cheeked, rubber doll, but later she took it to bed with her. Winn’s gift to Hope was a brown three-quarter length coat he got in trade from Cohen’s store. She got to her feet, slipped it on, and rushed to her dresser with the oval mirror. “I love it, Winn, but it has to be a lot colder than tonight to wear it.” Slipping it off, she returned to the floor and pushed a box wrapped in her finest paper with an elegant bow toward Winn. He ripped off the paper and handed the bow to her since she kept the pretty ones year to year. He slowly opened the box pretending something might jump in his face, and then he smiled. “Just what I needed—a new belt.” Marty said, “Yeah, Pop, you wore your old one out whippin’ that unruly bed.” “I sure hope you don’t mean for Pop to start using this one on us, Mom.” Billy picked it up and ran his hand over the leather tooling. “Oh, no. I know where the old ones are when you boys need a whipping.” She gave Marty a hug, he hugged her back. Billy still ired the belt. “This is good enough for John Wayne, Pop.” Hope reached for two packages and handed one to each boy. They raced to open them and found a leather tooled belt. Marty said, “Jeepers, I watched a man making belts just like this at a stand when the Mexican pickers were here.” The smile across Hope’s lips broadened, revealing her crooked front tooth. “That’s where I got them last September. I’ve had them hid in an envelope box under the counter in the office.” “You knew we weren’t going near your office supplies.” Marty stood to take off

his belt and put on the new one. “I really like it. Thanks Mom!” Billy gave her a hug. “Thank you, Mom. I think I got some good pictures, can we go down to the dark room to develop them?” Winn said, “Sure go ahead.” Hope picked up Dove and got her ready for bed. Winn remained sitting on the floor listening to Hope singing Jesus Loves Me to Dove from the other room. He stood, arched his back and ambled to the stove where he poured two cups of steaming cider. He set them on the coffee table and slowly sat on the sagging couch by the Christmas tree. Quietly closing the children’s door behind her, Hope softly walked to Winn. “She went right to sleep.” He handed her the cider. A comfortable silence was their companion as they sipped from their cup with eyes on the tree’s blue, red, green, and orange lights. Hope’s voice was soft, it caressed the moment like part of the air they breathed. “You know what my very favorite thing is?” “Uh-uh. What?” “You—you being here with us and not out getting drunk.” He flinched and held the cup to his mouth. Love was written on her face with capital letters. “Thank you, Winn.” She looked at his profile and waited. He turned to face her and she said, “Will you please be home on New Year’s Eve?” The colors of the lights reflected in her pleading eyes. He looked away, her sweet face held too many memories of her lonely nights. Times he selfishly fed his desire for booze and those holidays when he didn’t consider her feelings. Winn leaned forward and sat his cup on the table. “Sugar, I’ve been thinking.” “Uh-oh, that usually means some big change is about to take place.” “No—well maybe.” She put her cup beside his. “That’s confusing. What have you been thinking about?” “Reverend Maxwell’s book. I don’t want any mistakes and have been setting the

type very carefully. There are a lot of scripture references you know—got to get those right.” “He’s brought back what you’ve done so far and said there are no errors.” “Good, that’s good. But what I’m getting at is the content. I’ve never studied the book of Revelation so intently. The prophecy is fascinating and Maxwell brings it all to life. It’s made me think about our lives and all the things that have happened so miraculously.” She nodded and he went on. “God has the future all mapped out. He spoke to the prophets and led them to accomplish their purpose. So if Jesus is the same yesterday and today, it seems to me. He’s still leading us.” “I believe Jesus will never leave us if we accept his salvation. I also believe the Holy Spirit guides us if we allow Him to.” Winn pondered her words. “But most of the time in my life, I’ve been lead when I didn’t even know it, like when we met. I’m beginning to realize the Lord guided me to the Hempstead News office to meet the one who loved the newspaper business and would work alongside me.” “It is amazing. I feel that God answered my prayers and you’ve told me your Grandparents in Georgia were praying for you. The Lord knows our heart and puts opportunities in front of us that He knows we’ll take.” She put her hand in his. “Circumstances had to take place for us to get to this point. You don’t know how many times I’ve thanked Jesus every step of the way.” A lump was growing in her throat. She had prayed to have a conversation like this with Winn and here it was on Christmas Eve. He was beside her on that old horsehair sofa talking about the Lord. “ how surprised we were when Mrs. Belmont gave us the money to start our paper in Woodsboro?” He sat back and cross a leg over his knee. “I sure do, that’s one of the things on my mind. Because of her kindness to an old beggar, he left her three hundred dollars and because I helped her brother get on his feet, she gave us half.” He chuckled. “And I’ll never forget about going to the Howard Hughes warehouse in Houston with her check in my pocket to buy old printing equipment. When I saw the machinery, I knew it was worth at least eight hundred dollars. I was shocked when the warehouse manager told me one hundred fifty. You should’ve seen his face when I gave him a check already made out for that amount.” Their laughter brought their heads together. Hope said, “And what about the day

I saw that the Tribune was for sale. We never thought we could afford it.” His forehead wrinkled with thoughts that hadn’t occurred to him until recently. “Then that very night, the hurricane came and blew away everything. Don’t you think God knew that storm was brewing and was going to wipe us out? I think He allowed you to see that ad to give us something we could hope for, someplace where we could start over.” Her arms grabbed him like a bear and hugged him almost as tight. “I think so too, Winn. There’s no doubt in my mind the Lord provided this paper. I was so surprised when Mr. Patrick accepted your offer of thirty-five hundred.” She pulled back and smiled. “And then wonders of all wonders, Mr. Upton gave us the loan plus some to help us with the move.” Her enthusiasm mounted recalling blessing after blessing. “I couldn’t believe it when Mr. Brooks agreed to rent us this building where we could have a large plant big enough for your office supplies and living area upstairs.” Winn rubbed his chin and stared at their empty cups. “I guess I never really stopped to think about all this, Sugar. Maxwell’s book has led me to do a little research of my own. Sometimes, late at night, I’ve been reading the Bible.” Inside she felt full like a balloon was expanding with joy from her stomach, up to her throat. The joy balloon pushed grateful tears up to her eyes. She put an arm around him and rubbed encouragement all over his shoulders. He went on. “You know, all of this is proof of God’s guidance for us. He has planned it all.” His eyes met hers and he took her in his arms. “It’s proof to me, Sugar. Proof positive.” “What are y’all cryin’ about? It’s Christmas—time to be happy!” Billy’s voice floated up the stairs. “Looky here, this oughta cheer y’all up.” He held out a black and white picture of the five of them with the tree in the background. The image was blurry at first through Hope’s waterlogged eyes. “My goodness, Billy. You’re in the picture too. I didn’t think you made it in the picture before the camera’s timer snapped. I’ll treasure this always as a remembrance of a most blessed Christmas.”

Our life is living proof of the choices we’ve made

—negative or positive.

RICHLAND RECORDER



Richland, Texas Thursday, December 27, 1972


Observations of an Octogenarian

“Let us pray” a request which is often heard from the pulpit, was never more appropriate than it is today considering the condition of our planet. Conflict and our controversial involvement in Vietnam have been heavy on our hearts. Negotiations, peace talks, and agreement for settlement in that part of the world has dragged on for almost four years, affecting many countries. This period of waiting, listening to news reports, and praying brings back memories of WWII for those of us who lived through that age of our history. As it was then, our world is now in crisis. As I pen this column, Catholics and Protestants in Ireland are fighting with the sad result of bloodshed and grief. Escalating crime prevails on our own soil with riots, demonstrations, and seeming disrespect of the law. Developments and conditions in our capital have caused a loss of confidence in the leadership of the Nation. God only knows the answer and termination of turmoil.

It seems the wings of time soars and carries us with the current towards the future in rapid flight which causes me to think of home. I’m not referring to the home of yesteryear; I’m making reference to my eternal home where I know a place is prepared for me. In my columns, I’ve chronicled some of the highlights in my life. But those who are closest to me know that, in consideration of reading pleasure, I’ve conveniently omitted the lowlights. The beginning of a New Year is time to refuel and reflect on the goodness of our Heavenly Father. In the struggles to achieve my goal of owning a newspaper plant, fighting personal battles, and making foolish decisions, I’ve unwittingly put my family through some very hard times. Prayer and faith that those prayers will be answered brought my wife, Hope, through those times. I’m convinced it is the supplications of my family that protected, guided, and drew me into the relationship I now covet with my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Almost thirty years ago, I came to the realization that doors of miraculous opportunities opened which led me to what I now know is the purpose of my being here on this earth. If I can put it into newspaper , my paper dreams, my pressing on with Hope, my ages through life have given me proof positive of my belief that God lights our path to guide us, He stands beside us, and protects us lest we fall. I have the utmost hope that you have the same blessed assurance in your life. As per proofing symbols, that’s -30-.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER

Discussion of books with friends, family, and clubs enrich and expand the enjoyment of reading. The following questions may challenge us for personal insights.

1. Has there been a time when friends gave you a helping hand like the townspeople of Woodsboro coming to the aid of Hope and Winn? How did it make you feel? Was there a situation when you reached out to help someone in their time of trouble? If so, express the feeling you received from that time. 2. Have you felt the Lord’s leading toward a new beginning? Describe how it came about and the result. 3. Hope said meeting friends shouldn’t be our objective in going to church. Examine your motives in attending. Are they social or spiritual? 4. Think of scriptures and assurances in God’s Word that have brought comfort to you through seemingly insurmountable circumstances. 5. Like Hope encouraging Betsy in her decision to marry Augie, has there been a time when you were in either position? If you were the one counseling, did your words bring forth a truth in your own life? 6. Can you say there was a definite time when you knew positively Jesus was real in your life? 7. Recall those times when something happened that was more than a coincidence, a special “wink” from God. Relive the awesome feeling you had when you experienced a “God incidence.”

BIBLIOGRAPHY

1. https.//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attack_on_Pearl_Harbor 2. wintertexasonline.com/uboats.html 3. https//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_declaration_ of_war_against_the_United_States_1941 4. https//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Binge_drinking 5. ww2history.com/key-moments/Holocaust/Hitler_ talks_of_Jewish_annihilation 6. https.//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crystal_City_ Internment_Camp 7. www.seecalifornia.com/history/santa-barbarawwll-japanese-attack.html 8. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Women%27s_Army_Corps 9. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1942_Matagorda_hurricane 10. www.nuecespress.com/1919-storm 11. https://texashistory.unt.edu. The Portal to Texas (search The Taft Tribune) 12. www.cocoanutgrovefire.org 13. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guadalcanal_Campaign

14. www.webmd.com/brain/essential-tremor 15. www.history.com/this-day-in-history/germans-surrenderat-stalingrad 16. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_African_Campaign 17. www.britannica.com/event/Casablanca-Conference 18. www.historyplace.com/speeches/fdr-prayer.htm 19. www.history.com/this-day-in-history/paris-liberated 20. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auschwitz_ concentration_camp 21. www.history.com/this-day-in-history/fdr-dies 22. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Adolf_Hitler 23. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/End_of_World_War_ll_ in_Europe 24. www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/bombing-of-hiroshimaand-nagasaki 25. www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/v-j-day

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