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  Miriam heard the urgency in his voice and saw it in his eyes. She wished she understood why it was there. How he could talk so personally about God, as if somehow he knew Him.

  Del continued, more softly now. "I didn't understand it myself. I went to church, listened to the preacher, and tried to live right, tried to follow the Ten Commandments. But I didn't understand the reality of the Christian message. Then one day, down there in California, I did. I met Him, and that moment changed my life. It changed me. He changed me."

  "Who?"

  "Jesus."

  "Oh."

  Del caressed the side of her face with his fingertips. "I want you to know Him, too. To know Him in your heart."

  Anger welled suddenly. She rolled away and sat up, lowering her feet over the side of the bed. "If He loves you so much, why's He sending you away, maybe to be killed?"

  "I don't know why, but I know He'll go with me." His hand alighted on her shoulder. She felt the bed shift and knew he was sitting up behind her. "Miriam, if you were to have a baby, I'd want—"

  She twisted to look at him. "What?"

  Her expression obviously amused him, for he grinned. "It's possible. We haven't done anything to prevent it, you know."

  "Of course, I know." Heat rose in her cheeks.

  His smile faded. "If we have a child as a result of this leave and I don't come back from the war, I want him to know that his father loved God and wasn't afraid of dying." He kissed her cheek. "If that happens, will you tell him?" He searched her eyes earnestly.

  She couldn't stay angry. Not when her heart was breaking. 'I'll tell him."

  The train depot in Boise hummed with activity. Most of the men—like Del—were in uniform. Most of the women—like Miriam—were fighting tears.

  She'd never hated anything as much as she hated the sight of that train pulling into the station. The moment of Del's departure had arrived, the weeklong leave disappearing like vapor above a kettle. So short a time. So many words left unspoken. So many fears still unconquered. So many dreams yet unfulfilled.

  Wordlessly, communicating only with their eyes, they walked out of the depot to the platform, Miriam clinging to Del's arm. Steam shooshed from beneath the yellow engine. The sun, hotter than normal for May, beat upon their heads. Hasty farewells and lovers' kisses were exchanged all around them.

  "Miriam, try not to be afraid."

  "I can't help it."

  He kissed her forehead, then whispered, "Remember, God tells us not to fear because He's with us."

  She didn't want to talk about God. She didn't want to be preached at. She wanted her husband at home. She wanted to see him off to work every morning and see him come home to her every night. She wanted him to be safe. If God loved her so much, then why was He taking Del away?

  "Miriam?" He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his lips. "It's going to be all right."

  She nodded but couldn't speak over the lump in her throat.

  "I'll write as often as I can, but don't worry if letters don't come regularly. It'll just be because the mails are held up by the army."

  She swallowed hard. "I'll send V-mails often, and I'll write long letters, too."

  "I'll think about you all the time. I'll pray for you every night."

  "Me, too."

  "Send along word about your parents and Arledge."

  "I will. I promise."

  "When I get home, I'll buy you a dozen pairs of silk stockings."

  She sniffed, then offered a pitiful smile. "I'll cook you steaks every night for supper."

  At the far end of the platform, a man shouted, "All aboard!"

  Miriam threw her arms around Del's neck. "Look out for yourself. Please be careful."

  "Always."

  "Oh, Del, I'm sorry I wasn't . . . I'm sorry I didn't . . . I—"

  "It's okay, baby. It's okay. I love you."

  "All aboard!"

  "Del—"

  "I've gotta go." He kissed her, hungrily but too quickly.

  "Del," she sobbed as he withdrew from her. "Oh, Del."

  "I love you, Miriam. Just remember that. I love you."

  "I love you, too."

  "Take care of yourself."

  "I will."

  "Be good to your mom."

  "I will."

  He placed his foot on the first step of the railcar. "I'll be home as soon as I can."

  "I'll be waiting right here."

  "I love you."

  "Me, too." She hugged herself, no longer able to see him through the blur of tears. She blinked hard, but by the time her vision cleared, he'd disappeared inside. Desperation welling in her chest, she searched every window for a glimpse of him.

  Another burst of steam shot from beneath the engine. The train jerked forward, then paused, as if holding its breath.

  "Please, God. Let me find him. Please."

  Another groan, another jerk, another shoosh and cloud of steam.

  Then he was there, leaning out of a window. "I love you, Miriam," he called to her.

  "I love you, Del," she shouted back, hurrying toward him, her arm outstretched, wanting to touch him, needing to hold on, if only for a second longer.

  But she couldn't get to him in time. The next turn of the iron wheels carried Del's car beyond the end of the platform. He called something to her, but she couldn't understand over the noise of the train and the shouts of departing soldiers, sailors, and airmen and their bereft wives, mothers, and sweethearts.

  Something inside Miriam seemed to shrivel as she watched the train pull out of the station. And if Del died, she swore she would hate God forever.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE MORNING MIRIAM DISCOVERED SHE WASN'T PREGNANT, SHE stood in the shower and wept.

  And wept.

  And wept.

  She wept until her tears were spent, the stream turned cold, and she stood shivering beneath the spray. Finally, teeth chattering, she turned off the water, then dried herself with a towel. A few moments later, she was in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection. She placed one hand over her flat abdomen.

  "What would it be like to have his baby?" she whispered. "Del's son."

  If he doesn't come back, you'll never know.

  Her throat ached at the thought.

  A rap on the door preceded her mother's voice. "Miriam, are you all right, dear? You've been in there a long time."

  "I'm fine." She sounded almost normal. "Sorry for hogging the bathroom. I'll be out shortly."

  "You needn't rush. I'm leaving for school. I've left your breakfast on the stove."

  "Thanks."

  "Oh, would you mail a letter to your father on your way to the drugstore? It's on the kitchen table next to my Bible."

  "Okay."

  There was a pause; then her mother said, "Have a good day, darling."

  "Thanks." Miriam felt her throat constricting and was surprised to find her vision blurred by tears again. "You, too."

  Somehow she knew her mother hesitated a moment more in the hallway before turning and walking away.

  "Oh, Mama," she whispered when she heard the front door close. "I didn't know I wanted a baby. How can it hurt so bad when I didn't even know?"

  She drew a shaky breath, then let it out slowly before tossing the bath towel aside and beginning to dress. It didn't take long to get ready for work. She didn't care what she looked like. What did it matter with Del so far away?

  With a heavy heart, she left the bathroom and went to the kitchen. After a quick glimpse at the cooked oatmeal, she carried the pan to the garbage pail and dumped the cereal into it. She couldn't think about eating. Not feeling the way she did.

  Why couldn't Del and I have some good years first, before this stupid war got started? We're only young once. It isn't fair.

  It was an old litany, one nearly as old as her marriage. It changed nothing. Nobody but Miriam heard it anyway.

  She collected her purse and her mother's letter, then left for work.
<
br />   May 25, 1944

  My darling Del,

  There hasn't been a soul in the drugstore all morning. I hate it when it's this quiet. It makes the days too long. It gives me too much time to think about you and wonder where you are and if you're safe.

  I got the letter you sent before you left the States. I hope you're still in England, but Chief Jagger says, if you are, you won't be there long. Everybody is talking that the end of the war in Europe can't be far off. Every time the newspaper or the radio reports a victory, I get excited. I think maybe it means you'll be coming home soon. When news came that Sevastopol fell to the Soviet forces two weeks ago and the Germans evacuated by sea, you'd think I knew where Sevastopol was.

  School will be out soon, and Mother will be with me more hours in the store. Not that the help is really needed. We aren't doing much business. Not like we used to. I think we should open later and close earlier, but Dad said he didn't want us to do that. He said that, for as long as we can, we should help the folks in River Bluff feel like the war hasn't changed everything. So I guess I'm stuck working in the store more hours than I want to.

  Del, you've got to stay safe and come home to me. There isn't going to be a baby. I found out this morning. I don't know if you wanted it to happen or not, but it didn't. So now you've just got to come back so we can have a family. You understand me, Del Tucker? You take care. You stay safe.

  I didn't realize how lucky I was, your staying in the States for so long. I thought I understood, but I didn't. Now when I look at a newspaper or listen to the radio, when I read about or hear about another battle in Europe, I wonder if you're okay. And you've been gone only a few weeks. How will I make it for the duration? I feel as though you've already been gone an eternity.

  I'm sorry, sweetheart. It seems I do nothing but complain in my letters. I don't mean to, and I know I shouldn't. You're the one in danger, not me.

  I love you, Del. I don't think I knew how much until you went away this time. I love you with everything in me. I love you with my whole heart. I love you with my life. There isn't anything I want more than for you to come home and for us to be together and have a family and live like normal folk.

  Remember how I used to think I wanted glamour and excitement? Remember when I ran away from home to become a movie star and you had to come after me? But I don't want those things, Del. Honest, I don't. All I want is you.

  Stay safe, my darling.

  Your loving wife,

  Miriam

  The bell over the shop door jingled, and Miriam looked up from the stationery to see who had entered the store.

  Bess Pritchett. Sally's mother.

  Miriam felt a catch in her heart as she rose from the wooden swivel chair. "Afternoon, Mrs. Pritchett."

  "Hello, Miriam." The woman smiled, but there was no cheer in her expression. She'd taken the loss of her son hard.

  "How's Sally?"

  "She's right enough. 'Course, she doesn't really understand that her brother's never comin' home. She just knows Douglas isn't here now and that all of us feel bad."

  Miriam was sorry she'd asked. She didn't want to talk about soldiers who never came home. "What can I help you with, Mrs. Pritchett?"

  "I need some ointment to help ease my husband's misery a bit. His rheumatism's actin' up again."

  "I've got something right over here that should help." Miriam stepped from behind the counter and led the way.

  The door opened again. "Ma?"

  "Roy, I told you to wait in the car," Bess Pritchett answered her son.

  The little towheaded boy came into view at the end of the aisle, holding a squirming ball of black-and-brown fur in his hands. "He's whinin' for his ma. Can't we keep him?"

  "No, son. Already told you we couldn't. Now you git on back to the car."

  The youngster looked at Miriam. "You want him?"

  "Roy," Bess said sternly, "you mind me right now."

  But Roy didn't mind. With all the stubbornness of a willful five-year-old, he marched toward Miriam and held out the puppy. "Here."

  Even as she shook her head, Miriam took the tiny puppy. He squirmed in her hands, and she drew him against her chest. "What's his name?"

  "Doesn't got one."

  The puppy licked Miriam's chin, then nuzzled into the curve of her throat, making soft whimpering sounds. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath her hands. "What kind is he?"

  "Yorkshire terrier," Bess answered. "But don't trouble yourself about him. We're takin' the little runt to the pound 'cause we can't find him a home. Folks don't have time nor money to spare for fancy pets, and I just can't deal with—"

  "No," Miriam said, making up her mind suddenly, "I'd like to keep him, if it's all right." She held the puppy away so she could look at his face. "I think I'll call you Sergeant York. Sarge for short." She glanced down at Roy. "What do you think? Is Sarge a good name?"

  Roy nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

  "How much, Mrs. Pritchett?"

  "Well, I reckon he'd be free. We were givin' him to the pound anyway."

  "Thank you." Miriam smiled as Sarge nibbled on her earlobe. She wasn't going to feel quite so lonely tonight.

  P. S. Del, you'll never guess what I did a little while ago. I got myself a puppy. A little Yorkshire terrier that I've christened Sergeant York after the character in the Gary Cooper movie that came out a few years ago. That's York for Yorkshire, of course, but I'm calling him Sarge. Rather patriotic, don't you think? Mrs. Pritchett was taking him to the pound because he's the runt of the litter and she couldn't sell him. The moment I saw Sarge, I knew I wanted him. Maybe because I can lavish some of the love I can't give to you in person onto him.

  Does that make any sense? I hope it does. And I hope you'll like him when you see him. I hope he won't be too grown up before that happens. I hope you get to see him soon.

  I'll have Mother take some pictures of Sarge and me with her Brownie camera so you can have them with you wherever you are. I'll get those for you just as soon as I can.

  Now I'm taking this letter to the post office so it can be on its way to you. I'm sending all my love and devotion.

  Be safe, my darling.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "COME HERE, SARGE. YOU'RE GOING TO FALL IN IF YOU'RE NOT careful."

  Miriam rescued the puppy from the riverbank. She ruffled his ears with one hand while holding him close.

  "Silly dog."

  It was amazing how quickly she'd become attached to Sarge. Only ten days since she'd carried home this tiny ball of fur to show her mother, and already the puppy had become a great comfort. Miriam might not sleep through the night without having to take Sarge outside to do his business, but neither was she sleeping alone. There was something soothing about feeling the puppy's small body nestled close to her own.

  Miriam settled onto a boulder at the bend in the river. Still holding Sarge, she lay back and stared at the cloudless sky. The sun kissed her face, warming her skin, and her thoughts drifted as her eyes began to droop.

  "Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

  Pastor Desmond had really worked up a lather this morning as he'd preached a sermon about victory.

  "I believe in my heart that victory for the Allies is assured, whether that victory is next week, next month, or next year. It will come. But, my dear congregation, only the victory that comes with Christ will last. Until Jesus returns for His bride, as long as mankind rules the earth, there will be wars and rumors of war, for we are a fallen race."

  Her father would have said, "Amen."

  Miriam had been glad when church let out so she could get away by herself. She found her emotions stretched too thin whenever there was talk of the war. Everyone might say victory in Europe was close, that the Nazis were losing ground, that the war couldn't go on much longer. They might say it, but Miriam knew that plenty more men would die before it was done. And now that Del was there . . .

  A sha
dow fell over her face, but before she could open her eyes, she heard a familiar voice. "I figured I'd find you here."

  Releasing her hold on Sarge, who quickly scampered to the ground, Miriam sat up. "Jacob?" She stared at the tall, thin man beside the boulder, squinting at the sunlight behind him. "Is that you?"

  "It's me." He chuckled. "In the flesh."

  It wasn't until she was on her feet that she noticed his left arm was in a sling. "Jacob, you're hurt. You've been wounded."

  "It's nothing."

  She didn't believe him. "It must be something or you wouldn't be here."

  "I have some recovering to do." He shrugged. "I'll be shipping out again in another month or two." He held out his good arm. "Doesn't the returning warrior get a hug from his favorite girl? Even if she is an old married lady?"

  She punched his right shoulder. "Old married lady, my aunt Hattie." Then she hugged him tightly, hiding her face against his chest. "It's good to see you, Jacob."

  Sarge whimpered and scratched at their legs with his front paws.

  Jacob leaned back from Miriam and looked down. "What is that? A rat?"

  "I beg your pardon. That is Sergeant York." She picked up the dog. "Unlike almost every other male I know, he's never going to run off to get shot at by the Nazis or Japanese. Are you, Sarge?" Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked madly to be rid of them.

  Jacob put his right arm around her shoulder. "I heard about Del going overseas. I'm sorry, Miriam."

  That was all the permission she needed. She turned her face to his chest once again and let herself cry.

  Jacob recognized a broken heart when he saw one. He knew because he'd had one himself. He thought he'd never get over Miriam's marrying Del Tucker. Right up until he'd heard the news of their wedding, he'd held out hope that she'd change her mind.

  "Seems like every time you and me are by this confounded river, you end up in tears. Wonder why that is?"

  She sniffed.

  "Come to think of it, you were gonna hate me forever 'cause I wouldn't marry you."

  She looked at him, her pale cheeks streaked by tears. "It wasn't because you wouldn't marry me. It was because you wouldn't take me to Hollywood." She sniffed again. "That's why I was crying, and that's why I said I'd hate you."