Dream When You're Feeling Blue (3 page)

She sat unmoving, the voices of her family distant things. Alan Betterman was dead, her sister was getting married, and all the world was such a tender place. It was impossible to be careful enough.

“I’ll bring her a spiritual bouquet,” Tommy said. “Shall I?”

“‘
Shall
I.’” Billy snickered at the proper usage and reached across Binks for the red cabbage.

“Mind your manners!” his mother told him.

“’Bout what?” he asked, honestly confused.

“A spiritual bouquet would be lovely, Tommy,” said their mother, looking away from all of them, out the window toward the Bettermans’ house.

“FINE WAY TO SPEND A SATURDAY NIGHT,”
Tish grumbled. The sisters were sitting at the kitchen table dressed in their flannel pajamas and woolen robes, all of them with mugs of hot water and lemon. It was unseasonably cold out tonight, the famous Chicago wind howling. Kitty and Louise had put their hair up in rag rollers; Tish had combed out her beautiful blond hair and complained that all the wonderful waves were going to waste. “You’ll look very nice for Father Fleishmann at mass tomorrow,” Margaret told her, and Tish rolled her eyes. She’d been planning on going to a USO dance that night, but her mother had decided she should stay home and write letters instead. “Enough is enough,” Margaret said. “You’re only seventeen years old. You don’t need to be gallivanting all over town every night.”

“It’s not every night,” Tish said. “And it isn’t all over town. And I’m doing it for the war effort, Ma. Knitting isn’t the only thing to do, you know. It helps the boys’ morale to dance with beautiful girls.”

“Ah, so it’s
beautiful
we are now. And never mind leaving it to someone else to offer the compliment! Should it be warranted in the first place!”

Tish made a show out of opening the letter she would answer first. She shook the page and put it down on the table to press out the creases. “Well, well,” she said. “
‘Dear Beautiful,’
Sam Wischow writes.”

“Beauty is as beauty does,” Margaret said. “It wouldn’t hurt you to learn to knit as well as dance, Tish. God forbid those boys are still fighting in Europe this winter, they’ll need scarves and mittens and socks. Peg Bennett knit a vest for her son last winter and he very much appreciated it, ’twas a wonderful gift. Now, you write your letters, and I don’t want to hear another word about where you’d rather be.”

She went into the parlor to sit with her husband and listen to the radio. Edward R. Murrow was a must for both of them. Frank liked
I Love a Mystery,
with its A-1 Detective Agency, whereas Margaret preferred Fred Allen and Jack Benny, or Amos ’n’ Andy and their Fresh Air Taxi, courtesy of the missing windshield. Most times, though, they’d talk over the radio shows. Occasionally there was an argument, but of a friendly, swat-fly variety that always ended the same way. Frank would say, “Ah, I should have married that willowy blonde I used to see on the streetcar every morning. She could never keep her eyes off of me.” And Margaret would counter with “No doubt she was mesmerized by the breakfast crumbs on your face.
I
should have married Howard Kresge, he had such gorgeous curls. And I’ll bet he’s worth a million dollars by now.”

They would sit silently for a while, Margaret rocking and knitting, Frank sucking at his pipe. And then they would forget about any argument and start talking again. Tonight, no doubt, they’d be discussing Louise’s engagement. There was some doubt about how Frank felt: he’d congratulated Louise, but he’d looked like an elephant was standing on his toe when he did so. As for Margaret, she couldn’t have been happier: she loved Michael like a son already.

Kitty wondered how her parents would feel when she told them that she, too, was engaged. She hadn’t told her sisters yet; she wanted to surprise them with the ring.

As though sensing her thoughts, Tish asked Louise, “So what do you think your ring will look like? I hope it’s a big diamond, emerald cut, just like Judy Garland’s.”

“Round,” Kitty said. “More elegant.” She hoped hers was round. And she hoped it was big, too; Julian could afford it—or at least his parents could. She couldn’t wait to show her ring to the girls at the insurance company. Every morning, there was a big get-together before the typing and the filing began, all the women gathering near the watercooler to catch up on one another’s lives. Kitty had it all planned: just as they were ready to get down to work, she’d say, “Oh, girls? One last thing.” And then she’d hold up her hand. Tuesday morning, she’d do this, after having picked up the ring on Monday. She’d make sure she did a good manicure Monday night—Tish would help her. Although Tommy was also good at manicures, and he’d help anyone do anything.

“I’m not going to get a ring,” Louise said. “We’re going to save for other things.”

Tish looked up from the letter she was signing off on.
With hugs and kisses and lots of love,
she’d write. Next she’d put a big kiss mark on the page with red lipstick—she kept the tube handy on the kitchen table. She signed off that way to every guy on her list, even though her sisters had told her it was improper—a kiss made with an open mouth, no less! But now Tish was the one preaching propriety. “You have to have a ring!” she told Louise. “That’s what makes you engaged!”

“It’s not the ring that makes you engaged,” Louise said. “It’s the promise.”

“Welllll,” Tish said, and her voice was high and singsong. “I don’t
know.
A girl needs a
ring
to know that it is a
prom
ise. Or maybe the guy’s just
fool
ing.”

Then, when both Kitty and Louise looked over at her, she looked away, embarrassed. Michael wasn’t that kind of guy.

But Julian was, Kitty thought. Julian was the kind of guy who called you “baby” while watching another girl—or, worse, a fancy car—go by. But things were different now. A ring changed everything. A ring was what every girl waited for. It was the oddest thing, the way getting it made you so excited yet also serenely calm. It was as though you could finally stop holding your breath.

In only two days, Kitty would have proof that Julian loved her. She hadn’t wanted to put pressure on him, but she had just turned twenty-two. With a yearlong engagement, she’d be twenty-three when they were wed. It was time. For Louise, at twenty, it wasn’t as critical; she was nowhere near being called an old maid.

“When I get married,” Tish said, “we’re going to eat by candlelight every night. Twelve loooong white candles, in a silver candelabra. Two candelabras!”

Louise said, “I’m going to make a pie for dinner every day; Michael loves pie more than just about anything. I’ll make all different kinds. And I’ll always have fresh flowers on the table, even if it’s just one little blossom. One flower can make such a big difference!”

“I’m not putting anything on the table,” Kitty said. “We’re going to go out to dinner every night. And then to a club for drinks and dancing.”

“That would get old,” Louise said, and Tish and Kitty answered together, “No it wouldn’t!”

It was quiet, then, both girls writing their letters, Louise lost in thought, Tish with the tip of her tongue sticking out as she labored away. Kitty was having a hard time thinking of something else to say: for heaven’s sake, she’d just seen Julian that morning. She could talk about plans for their married life once she had the ring on her finger, but that hadn’t happened yet. She’d already told him about Louise and Michael, which he probably knew anyway, since he and Michael were such good friends. What else was there to write about? What they’d had for dinner? She certainly didn’t think she should mention Alan Betterman. She wrote,
I guess you’ll be plenty busy, but I sure hope you’ll have time to write now and then.
Then, shyly, she added,
honey.
She sat back in her chair and regarded the word on the page. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe
hon
would be better. Or some newfangled word of endearment: Julian was always up on the latest slang. Last time they were trying to have some private time at her house, Julian had told Billy, “Go climb up your thumb, wouldja?”

Kitty stared at her letter, and decided to leave
honey
in. It would look worse to scratch it out. Then she wrote,
Say, I know this is awfully short, but Louise is calling me to help her with some crazy thing. Remember me in your dreams, as I will you.
She’d write a longer letter later, after something had happened.

Tish licked an envelope, sealed it, and set it aside, then put the letter she’d answered back in its packet tied with red ribbon. She had three different colors for the men she was currently writing: red for Roy Letterman from Oakland, California; yellow for Bill Carson from Bayonne, New Jersey; and blue for her favorite, Donald Erickson from Madison, Wisconsin. She’d had pink for Whitey Nelson from New York City, but the letters from him had recently stopped. No one wanted to think why. At least Tish’s last letter to him had not come back marked
DECEASED.
Yet.

“You guys?” Tish said. “Do you ever wonder…Do you think there’s any danger that we’ll get attacked?”

Louise sighed. “Who knows?”

“Because I have a plan,” Tish said. “If we get attacked, we put a line of red nail polish across our throats like blood and play dead. I have the polish under the bed; it’s all ready in case we need it. Becky gave it to me, that girl who sits behind me in school. She has two bottles under her bed. She’s going to pour it all over her forehead like she shot herself.”

Kitty and Louise exchanged glances, and then Louise spoke reassuringly. “That’s a good plan, Tish. But I don’t think we’ll need it. I think we’ll win the war, and the boys will come home. It’s all going to be over soon.”

Silence but for the sound of the radio in the parlor, and then Tish opened another letter and laughed. “Listen to what this guy said:
‘I hope I didn’t embarrass you, praising your charms this way. Or make you mad! If I did, don’t be sore, it’s just with a puss like mine, I thought the only woman I’d hear from would be my mom. I’m the luckiest man in my company, everyone agrees.’
See that?” She smiled at her sisters, then read the lines again, silently this time, but with her lips moving.

“Guess you’re a good knitter after all, Tish,” Louise said. And then she got them all more hot water and lemon, and they worked quietly until their mother came into the kitchen and announced that, as she was tired, it was time for all of them to go to bed.

After the sisters were in bed, the lights out, Kitty whispered, “Hey? You know Mrs. O’Brien, that young woman whose husband’s been gone since Pearl Harbor? The real pretty one? Well, she had the grocery delivery boy inside her house for
half an hour
the other day! Mrs. Sullivan told me—she lives right next door. I’ll bet she got an eyeful!”

When her sisters didn’t respond, she thought at first they were ignoring such unkind gossip. But when she leaned up on her elbow and looked at them, she saw that they were sound asleep, Tish with her mouth open, Louise with covers flung off, a dark lock of hair loose from the rag roller. Kitty had a thought to fix it but didn’t want to wake her.

They were home, she and her sisters. They were safe, three in a bed, but it was a comfortable bed. High above them, the sky was full of drifting clouds and stars. But across both oceans, boys not much older than her own brothers slept in the dirt, and the skies above them exploded regularly. It comforted Kitty to think that the letters she and her sisters wrote would soon be in their hands. But it was a small comfort, and mostly inside herself she felt the hollowness of fear. Her mouth grew dry; she wanted water. A trip to the kitchen? No. She would wait until morning. What luxury, the choice.

R
IGHT AWAY ON MONDAY MORNING,
Kitty knew something was wrong. Rather than the usual loud and cheerful banter of the women at her office, there was silence. A knot of women was gathered around the desk of Maddy Pearson, and she had her hands to her face and was crying.

Kitty swallowed against the sudden tightness of her throat, lay her jacket and purse on her desk chair, and moved over to the group. “What happened?’” she whispered, and Polly Dunn whispered back, “Her brother Walter was killed. His plane was shot down. He parachuted out, but then the Jerrys got him on the ground. The family just found out on Saturday.”

Tears started up in Kitty’s eyes, and she blinked them away, then moved forward so that she could kneel at her friend’s side. “Maddy?” she whispered.

Maddy turned toward her and took Kitty’s hands into her own. She squeezed them so tightly, Kitty had to draw in a breath and clench her teeth to keep from crying out. Maddy spoke between hiccuping sobs. “I thought I was better off coming to work but, golly…” She shook her head. “I guess it wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“Want to come outside for a minute?” Kitty asked, and Maddy nodded.

They rose together, and the other women parted silently to make way for them. As she and Maddy left the room, Kitty could hear the women start to talk again in the low tones of sorrow.

“Now I’m the one,” Maddy said. “I’m the one they’re all talking about because my brother is gone.”

Kitty linked arms with her. “Shhhhh,” she said. “Let’s go outside. We’ll sit for a while.” She smiled. “It’s real nice out.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them—how callous to turn the conversation to the weather! But her friend only tried to smile back.

Down the block and across the street was a small park, and Kitty led Maddy to a bench there. “He’d been dead for well over a week before we found out,” Maddy said. “Can you imagine? We’re all just going on like normal, and he’s…” She looked at Kitty. “I’d just written him a letter the day before we got the telegram, and I told him all these things he never…he never got to read. I guess that letter’ll just come back. And it will seem so silly, won’t it? All I said?” She put her hand over her heart. “Oh, boy. It hurts. It’s real pain. Right here.”

“I know,” Kitty said.

They sat in silence for some time, and above them the birds chirped and hopped busily from one branch to another. Maddy sighed heavily. She looked up and watched the birds for a while, then reached in her pocket for her hankie. She blew her nose loudly, and it honked, and the girls smiled in spite of themselves. “It’s awful,” Maddy said then, and Kitty nodded.