Bridge to Haven (13 page)

I love you, Dad. Your words are my lifeline. They keep me sane in an insane world.

Joshua

Joshua wrote to Abra once from Japan, where he was on R & R. It was the longest letter she had received in months. He said he spent most of the time sleeping while others went out on the town. He’d put in for an extension of his tour of duty because he felt needed.

Abra wrote back, furious that he was willing to cause everyone so much worry. She listened to the news almost as much as Peter. Talks of truce started in July, but by late August the Communists broke off negotiations and the Battle of Bloody Ridge hit the headlines. Peter thought the Communists were posturing for peace, but really just wanted time to recoup their losses. His concern proved true when fighting intensified, the peace negotiations having allowed time for the enemy to hide supplies in sandbag bunkers in their plan to take all of Korea.

School started, giving her more to think about than piano lessons and obsessing about Joshua. Penny made the varsity cheerleading squad and spent most afternoons practicing new cheers. When the girls went to see
The Day the Earth Stood Still
, Abra kept saying, “Klaatu barada nikto!” over and over again because Patricia Neal couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say to save the world from the space robot.

Meanwhile, the Battle of Heartbreak Ridge raged in Korea. Within weeks, three US divisions attacked Communist forces along sagging boundary lines and successfully drove the enemy back. Communist losses were so heavy, peace talks resumed at Kaesong. Abra didn’t hear a word from Joshua, but she knew things weren’t going well because Pastor Zeke looked gray and gaunt.

1952

Peter and Priscilla gave Penny a record player for her sixteenth
birthday. Abra got sick of listening to Hank Williams singing “Your Cheatin’ Heart” and Rosemary Clooney’s “Come on-a My House.” In self-defense, she swam alone in the backyard pool. They saw
High Noon
, and Penny started wearing her hair up like Grace Kelly.

Abra didn’t expect a birthday celebration, but Peter and Priscilla surprised her by inviting Pastor Zeke, Mitzi, and Mr. Brubaker to join the family for dinner. Mr. Brubaker gave Abra sheet music to the Broadway hit
South Pacific
. Mitzi had wrapped up her beautiful Spanish shawl. Penny gave her a Kit-Cat Clock. When she opened Pastor Zeke’s present, she found Marianne’s worn Bible wrapped in tissue paper. She opened it and saw Marianne’s neat handwriting in the margins; passages underlined, circled, and starred. When she looked up, she saw hope and moisture in his eyes. She thanked him, but she couldn’t lie and promise she’d read it.

“And now, our gift.” Priscilla handed Abra a beautifully wrapped present. Removing the ribbons and papers, she found a blue velvet case with satin lining.

Penny gasped. “Pearls! Oh! Let me see.” She reached for them, but Peter reminded Penny she’d gotten a nice record player. He took the pearls from the case and put them around Abra’s neck, securing the clasp.

The evening wasn’t even over before Penny asked to borrow them when she went to
The Quiet Man
with Jack Constantinow, one of the varsity linebackers.

“Not until I’ve had a chance to wear them.” Abra tried to make the words light, but she resented Penny’s assumption that everything in Abra’s drawers and closet belonged to her, too. When Priscilla brought in the birthday cake and told her to make a wish, Abra wished Joshua home from the war and blew out all the candles.

Peace talks continued; small battles continued along the Main Line of Resistance. Losses mounted up as the negotiations dragged on.

Joshua’s letters slowed to a trickle and then stopped.

CHAPTER 4

War is hell!

WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN

1953

Sweat ran cold between Joshua’s shoulder blades as he rose and ran with his unit. Breech-loaded field guns boomed behind him, shells exploding. Muzzle-loaded mortars fired shells into enemy battlements, sandbags bursting, fire flashing, men screaming.

A man went down in front of him. Another was flung backward, arms spread wide like wings. A sobbing soldier tried to haul a buddy to safety. Joshua helped him get over and behind the rocks. “Jacko!” the soldier wailed. “Jacko! Come on, man. Wake up! I told you to keep your head down.”

Joshua didn’t need to check for a pulse. He snapped off the dog tags, tucked one in his pocket, and set the other between the man’s teeth.

Joshua pulled the grieving soldier against his chest like a father comforting a child. The man leaned heavily against him, racked with sobs. An explosion hit so close, they were both thrown back. Joshua’s
ears rang. He heard shouts and machine-gun fire. Rolling over, he saw the other man unconscious from the blast. He dragged him to safe cover and radioed for assistance. Within minutes two medics came up the hill with a litter.

The smell of dirt, blood, and sulfur surrounded Joshua. The ground moved every time field guns fired. Something hit the side of his helmet. He felt a hard punch in his side.

“Preacher!” someone shouted.

Joshua skidded into the cover of rocks. One man leaned back, pale and panting, while two others fired their guns. Someone was screaming profanity as a machine gun spent dozens of rounds in the space of seconds. Shrugging off his own pack, Joshua peeled off the wounded man’s gear. He wiped moisture from his eyes and opened the man’s jacket and shirt to get to the wound and stop the bleeding.

“Preacher.” Face covered with dirt and grime, the man’s eyes held relief and confusion.

Joshua knew him. “Don’t try to talk, Wade. Let’s see what’s what.” He assessed the damage. “Shoulder wound. Missed your lungs. Thank God. You’re going home to your cornfields, my friend.”

Joshua wiped his face again, and his hand came away covered in blood. He pulled a gauze pad from his supplies and jammed it up inside his helmet. One of the men threw a grenade. The explosion brought a rain of rocks and dirt. “Got ’em! Let’s go!”

Joshua and Wade were left behind. Joshua tried to radio for help, but he couldn’t get through. The wounded man had passed out. Joshua shifted and drew in a sharp breath. His side burned like fire, moisture seeping into his waistband. Grabbing another gauze pad, he pressed it hard against his side to stanch the flow of blood, using a length of bandage to keep it in place.

His radio crackled, then fell silent. No one was coming.

The firing had moved farther away. He might make it down the hill if he went now.

Joshua pulled Wade up and across his shoulders and staggered to his feet. He headed across the barren, rocky ground, avoiding pits, rocks, and detritus. Dog tags jingled in his pocket. How many had he carried in his pockets since stepping foot on Korean soil?

He stumbled once and fell to his knees, pain shooting up his legs and back. Wade’s weight bore down on him like a sack of stones. Searing pain spread across his side.
God, give me strength!
The aid station had to be close. His vision blurred, but he thought he spotted the blacked-out school building and tents.

Wade’s weight was lifted from him. Joshua hit the ground face-first. Strong arms lifted. He tried to walk, but his toes dragged as two men half carried him. Everything went black.

“Abra.” Priscilla stood in the bedroom doorway. “Pastor Zeke is downstairs. He wants to talk to you.”

Abra’s chemistry text and notebook bounced onto the floor as she flew off the bed and raced downstairs. Neither she nor Pastor Zeke had heard anything from Joshua in weeks.

Pastor Zeke looked pale and drawn. Fear flooded her, anger in its wake. “He’s dead, isn’t he? Joshua’s dead.” Her voice broke. “I knew he’d get killed. I knew it!”

Pastor Zeke gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “He’s been wounded. But he’s alive.”

Abra felt weak with relief. “When can I see him?”

“He’ll be at Tripler hospital in Hawaii for a while; I don’t know how long. Then he’ll be flown to Travis Air Force Base. He’ll let us know when he arrives.” Half a day’s drive from Haven. She started to cry. She couldn’t stop herself. Pastor Zeke drew her into his arms. “He’s coming home, Abra.”

She kept her arms at her sides. Pastor Zeke’s hand cupped the back of her head. She had forgotten how the sound of his heartbeat
comforted. “Pray the war ends soon, Abra.” Pastor Zeke rested his chin briefly on top of her head before letting her step back. “For Joshua’s sake as well as all the other men in Korea.”

The relief dissipated. “He’s wounded. They won’t send him back.”

“We can hope the Army won’t listen to his request.” Pain flickered in Pastor Zeke’s eyes. He’d aged since Joshua left. His dark hair had streaks of gray. He’d lost weight. “It’s in God’s hands.”

“All you ever talk about is God. You could tell Joshua to stay home and he’d listen to you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can, but you won’t!”

“That’s enough, Abra.” Peter spoke firmly. “Go to your room.”

She ran out the front door instead, racing down the steps. She ran three blocks before the pain in her side made her slow down. Anger pulsed through her and she wanted to aim it at someone. Volunteer to go back? Was Joshua crazy? Did he
want
to die?

Gasping for breath, she continued at a fast walk until she reached the town square. She sat on a bench, looking at the patio where Joshua had danced with her. No bands today. Summer was long over. Rain drizzled; dark clouds promised heavier ones coming. Her body cooled and she shivered. Bessie’s would offer shelter.