Dream When You're Feeling Blue (15 page)

I
N AUGUST, MRS. O’CONNER DIED,
and Michael was home within thirty hours. At the funeral home, Kitty stood alone in the corner, discreetly fanning herself. She was watching Louise hold Michael’s hand and speak with the people who had come to pay their respects. It was so strange seeing Louise and Michael together again. The circumstances were sad, of course, and maddening, too, if you could be so crass as to put such a term to it. Kitty supposed she was crass, because mostly what occupied her mind was what it must be like for Louise to have so little time with the man she loved and then be spending it this way.

Michael had grown much thinner, and there was a look in his eye Kitty had never seen before. A gentle distance. A weariness out of sync with his age and formerly easy and upbeat disposition. You couldn’t quite reach him. Some of this, Kitty thought, was grief for his mother, for what had been, for him, a sudden death. But there was something else, too.

He’d be going back tomorrow. So little time for him to be home and with Louise. Margaret had invited him and his father to dinner, but Michael’s father was going to stay with his sister in Wisconsin that night, and Michael and Louise had asked for the evening alone so that they could go for a meal and to a movie, just like old times. Who could blame them? But oh, what wrenching sweetness would now be attached to this simple thing.

Kitty saw Louise whisper something to Michael. Then she let go of him and went off toward the ladies’ room. Michael looked around the room, a sorrow he’d been holding at bay now apparent in his face. But then he spotted Kitty, smiled, and walked over to her.

“Hey, good-looking.”

“Michael, I’m so sorry,” Kitty said.

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Gosh. who’d have thought…”

“I know.” He studied the carpet, then looked up at her. “Kitty? I want you to make sure my fiancée takes good care of herself.”

“I will.”

“God, I miss her.”

“She misses you, too.”

“Don’t let her worry about me so much. And help her feel better about everything—Dad said Mom was in an awful lot of pain. It’s better she didn’t linger any longer.”

“Yes.” Kitty didn’t know what else to say. How could you say you were glad someone’s mother had died? She thought of Margaret lying in a coffin, of herself weeping over her own dead mother. Then she thought of Margaret sitting up in the coffin and saying, “Enough now, we’ll get our drama from the motion pictures, thank you very much.” That was exactly what she’d say.

“Hear from Julian much?” Michael asked.

“Oh, sure.”

“I get a lot of letters from him,” Michael said, smiling. “Still the same old Julian.”

“Yes,” Kitty said. Was he? She didn’t even know.

“I suppose he
is
tired of the wardrobe by now,” Michael said.

“And no gang to boss around,” Kitty said. “Now it’s him taking orders.”

“Definitely not his style,” Michael said and then saw Louise. He raised his hand to signal that he’d be right over, and gave Kitty a quick hug. “Good seeing you, Kat. Drop me a line sometime. And tell Julian that when it’s all over the four of us are going to have one hell of a party.”

“I will.”

“And please…take care of her until I come home. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Kitty watched him walk away. Billy had talked about how smart Michael looked in his uniform, and he did. Oh, how she missed men, their height and low voices, the firmness of their touch! Well, Julian, she meant, of course. How she missed Julian.

IT WAS VERY LATE WHEN LOUISE
came up to bed. The light outside the window was pinkish gray; the birds had begun to call. Kitty was awake but said nothing. The idea of letting her sister believe she had some semblance of privacy was right, for soon she heard the soft sounds of Louise crying. Sometimes nothing but tears would do. Kitty wanted to turn over, her hip ached from being in that position too long, but she kept still, and would, for as long as it took.

E
ARLY ON MONDAY MORNING, MARGARET SHOOK
Kitty’s shoulder. “Have you seen Billy?”

Kitty opened her eyes and blinked once, twice. “What?”

“Have you seen Billy? Wake up, all of you; Billy’s missing!”

Louise sat up and yawned. “Ma, calm down. I’m sure he’s somewhere nearby. He’s probably out playing.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Margaret held out a note with a trembling hand. “I found this on his bed! He’s gone and enlisted!
‘I’m off to win the war,’
he says.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll write soon.’”

“He can’t enlist!” Tish said. “He’s too young!”

“Yes, and who gave him the idea of how easy it is to lie about his age? All of you so loose with your talk, and now look what you’ve done!”

Tish began to cry.

“Wait,” Kitty said. “Wait a minute, Ma. Are the other boys here?”

“No,” Margaret said. “They and your father are out looking for him.”

Tish wiped her eyes and reached for the clothes she’d left on the floor. “I’ll go and look.”

“Wait for me,” Kitty told her, and Louise said, “I’ll come, too.”

“You girls have to go to work,” Margaret said. And then, when it became clear that none of them would do any such thing, she said, “Don’t all of you go together. Go in different directions. And come back to the house every hour on the hour in case he shows up. I’ll wait here. Oh, the licking I’m going to give him. Right out in the front yard, in front of everyone!” Then she began to cry, saying, “If he’d only come back, I’d forgive him, God love him. He just wants to make his father proud. Oh, where did he go? Why must we live in such a big city?”

“I’m sure they won’t take him right away,” Kitty said. “We’ll find him.” But she wasn’t so sure. She had heard from one of the men at the USO dances that he had been taken the very afternoon he’d signed up. And she also knew the usual procedure was that the men got their paperwork done one day, then headed off for basic training camp the next. There was so very little time.

“M
AY I HAVE MORE OATMEAL, PLEASE
?
”
Tommy asked. Margaret mindlessly passed him the bowl. It was two weeks after Billy had disappeared. Tommy had begun eating again—with a vengeance—and that was the only good news the Heaney family had enjoyed. There was little conversation; mostly mealtimes consisted of the clinking of silverware against the dishes.

“May I be excused?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, go,” Margaret said irritably. And then, “Where is that father of yours?”

Every morning, Frank went early to the post office to check through the mail before their carrier set out, looking for some word from Billy. So far, nothing.

Kitty pushed away from the table without excusing herself. Who cared now about such formalities? She went to the bathroom and found the door locked. “Tommy?”

“Yes?”

“Are you almost done? I have to get in there, honey. I’ve got to go to work.”

“Okay.” Kitty heard the toilet flush, and then Tommy opened the door. He looked up at her and smiled. Kitty stepped into the bathroom, stopped, and came back out into the hall. “Tommy?”

Nothing. She called louder and then heard his thin reply. She went down the hall and into the boys’ bedroom. It wasn’t a place she liked to go very often, for despite Margaret’s insistence on cleanliness, Billy was a slob—messes seemed to follow him wherever he went. But now, in his absence, the room was clean—the bed made, all the toys and books and papers put away, the model cars and airplanes neatly lined up on the shelf. It was awful.

Tommy lay on the bed, his back to Kitty. She sat beside him and touched his shoulder. “Are you sick, honey?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“But…Didn’t you just throw up in the bathroom?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

She smiled. “Oh, Tommy, you don’t have to apologize! Turn over, let me see you.”

He turned toward her, embarrassed. Despite having begun to eat again, he didn’t look well. He had circles under his eyes, and even his freckles seemed pale.

“Did you just eat too much? Is that it? Got a little too full?”

He nodded.

“Are you trying to eat more to make Ma feel better?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, that’s nice, but just take it easy, okay? Just eat normally, and that will be fine. Okay?”

“Kitty?”

“Yes?”

“Will Billy get killed in the war?”

“Oh, sweetheart, no. If he hasn’t been found out already, he’s off in some training camp—he hasn’t gone overseas yet. We’re going to find him and bring him home. Don’t worry. You worry so much, and you’ve got to stop! I know everybody’s upset about Billy, but believe me, we’ll find him.”

Tommy stared at her. “Do you promise?”

“I promise!” she said, with a hearty conviction she didn’t feel at all. Who knew where Billy was or what had happened to him? All the efforts Frank had made to find him through the armed services had thus far failed.

She leaned in closer to Tommy’s face. “You know what? I have something up my sleeve that I’m going to tell Pop as soon as he gets home. And I’ll bet you we find him right away after that. One thing I really know for sure, Tommy, is that Billy is fine. I just know it.” Oddly, she did feel sure of that.

“What about Julian, and Michael?”

“Them, too.”

“But every day guys get killed. More and more.”

“I know. It’s awful. But Julian and Michael and Billy won’t.”

“How do you know, though?”

“You have to have faith. Okay?”

“Okay.” He sat up, and Kitty rubbed his back. She could feel his rib cage, his knobby vertebrae.

“I want you not to think about these things so much, Tommy. You’re making yourself sick. I’ll tell you what. I’ll worry for you. Whenever you start to feel bad, you think to yourself,
Hey, I don’t have to do this! Kitty’s worrying for me!
Okay? Can you do that? I’ll worry for you.”

“What’s your plan?”

“My plan?”

“Yes, you said you had something up your sleeve. About Billy.”

“Oh!” she said. “That’s absolutely right. But it’s top secret. I have to go to work now. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Kitty sped down the hall to get into the bathroom before it became occupied again. But she was too late. She knocked on the door and heard Tish’s “One second.”

Kitty sighed and slid to the floor. One second. More like one hour. “Hurry up!” she yelled. “I have to get to work.”

“So does everybody,” Tish yelled back.

“I have to go the farthest!” Kitty yelled. To this Tish said nothing.

Kitty crossed one ankle over the other and tried to relax. Nothing would make Tish linger more than telling her not to. Kitty looked down the hall toward the boys’ room. She felt bad telling Tommy she had a plan about Billy when she didn’t. Only suddenly, she did have an idea. She got up and ran down the stairs, calling for her mother.

A
FEW DAYS LATER, MARGARET STOOD
on the porch with the rest of the family, watching Billy come down the block. She was crying, her hands over her mouth, and her hands were trembling. She’d come outside without taking her apron off, something she’d never done before.

When Billy at last stood before them, Margaret embraced him, though she’d said the first thing she was going to do when she laid eyes on him was beat him senseless. But how could she? It was a Sunday morning, the church bells were ringing, a coffeecake in the oven was scenting the house with cinnamon, and the missing son had returned unharmed to stand before her with his crooked smile and his bright blue eyes.

Kitty’s own eyes filled with tears as she watched her mother hold Billy close to her, swaying and sobbing. Then, abruptly, Margaret stepped back from him and pointed to the front door. “Inside. I might as well tell you, you’re going to get the licking of your life.”

Billy grinned.

Margaret grabbed his ear. She wasn’t kidding.

The rest of the family waited uneasily on the porch. Binks pressed his nose to the window and cupped his hands around his eyes. “She’s still got him by the ear,” he said, adding, “That really hurts. Now she’s…Wait. Billy dropped his duffel bag. Now she’s coming out of the kitchen with that big wooden spoon and she’s…Uh-oh. She made him turn around and now…Oh. boy. she’s giving it to him now.”

This they knew. Billy’s howls made it to the front porch and beyond. But they were more like howls of joy, Kitty thought.

She sat on the top front step in the morning sun. She was overjoyed to have her brother home, but she was a little miffed that she hadn’t been recognized enough for her sleuthing abilities. Billy had used his friend Anthony’s birth certificate to enlist. “Of course!” Frank had said, smacking his forehead. But do you think he thanked his daughter? Do you think he acknowledged her excellent reasoning ability? No. He got on the telephone, and now, three days later, here his son was, back from his Louisiana boot camp. And in spite of Frank’s worry and his anger, Kitty could see that her father admired his son’s derring-do. Well, let him calm down, her father. She needed his full attention to tell him the next bit of great news: she was quitting the airplane factory. She was going to sell gloves at Carson’s, Tish had told her about an opening. Tomorrow she would let the factory know, via telephone. And then she would once again dress prettily for work. And grow her fingernails and keep them painted. And browse in department stores after a lunch she’d had with girlfriends who all smelled like perfume. And be treated as the lady she was.

“Ow!” Billy cried one last time, and then there was Margaret at the door, her face flushed, her apron askew, exuberantly waving them all in to have sour cream coffeecake made from Gert Nelson’s excellent recipe. It had taken a blue ribbon at the state fair three times, and if you ever forgot that, don’t worry, Gert would remind you. No matter; the cake was so good, it was worth it to have to offer congratulations over and over again.

AT SUPPER (ROAST BEEF!), BILLY REGALED THE FAMILY
with the story of his adventure. Apparently the punishment phase was over, and now everyone had moved on to adulation. Well, not Kitty. She knew what behavior should be admired and what behavior should not be.

“There was this really crabby sergeant?” Billy said. “And one guy, he did something wrong and the sergeant kicked him and made him do fifty push-ups. It was a terrible place. We had to take fifteen-mile hikes. Our clothes that they gave us didn’t even fit. We had to get up real early and then lights-out at nine. If you got up after that to go to the bathroom or something, you had to walk on tiptoes. They made me practically bald, you should have seen me when they first cut my hair. You had to clean everything so much it was ridiculous. We even had to wash windows!”

“’Tis a wonder you survived,” Margaret said wryly.

“Don’t I know it,” Billy said.

“I SEE,” FRANK SAID.
He was sitting in his chair in the parlor, and Kitty stood before him, waiting for him to congratulate her on coming to her senses. “Well, if you think that’s the right thing to do…”

“What do you mean?” Kitty said. “You didn’t even want me to take that job!”

Frank sucked at his pipe. “’Tis true.”

“You said it wasn’t right for a woman to work in a factory.”

“I did.”

“So…?”

“Well, you took the job anyway, didn’t you? And now you want to quit. I don’t like to think of any of us in this family as being quitters, including Billy; sure he’ll enlist when it’s time, should the war still be on. If you believe it’s right to leave the factory, you must do it. Never be afraid of doing the thing you know in your heart is right, even if others don’t agree. Just be sure that your decision sits well with your conscience. If you leave that job, make sure you can look yourself—and your country—in the eye.”

“Pop,” Kitty said. “It’s hard. I don’t even want to tell you some of the things that go on in that place.”

“I’m sure you’re not quitting because your fingernails get broken.”

Kitty stared at the floor. That certainly was a part of it.

Frank’s voice grew gentle. “I think all the time about our boys, Kitty. Sometimes I imagine them in their foxholes, all those young men in all those foreign places from which they might never return. I wonder what they talk about before they go into battle—or if they talk at all. I wonder how many of them look up at the stars and try to realize what their young lives have meant, and if they don’t come home, what their deaths will mean. I know they realize one thing more than any other: there’s no turning back. They’ve got to carry their mission through.” He tapped his pipe against the ashtray. “But the person with a bleeding finger doesn’t hurt less for the person next to him with the bleeding arm. You do what you have to do, Kitty. There’ll be no blame coming from me.”

IN THE MORNING, KITTY ROSE
before anyone else and made her way downstairs. She telephoned the factory and spoke quietly into the mouthpiece, identifying herself. Then she stood tall to say, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I…”

“Yes?” The woman on the other end of the line was impatient-sounding. No doubt she’d worked all night shift and was tired, ready to go home.

“I…might be a little late this morning.”

“Well, get here as soon as you can,” the woman said. “And don’t think you won’t be docked, either.” She hung up.

Someone from the party line picked up his phone. “Hello?
Hello?”

Kitty hung up.

So, then, off to work. Jeez, how much was a person supposed to sacrifice, anyway? How did you decide when it was enough? When she was little, Frank had told her something she’d never forgotten: If you win something, it feels good. If you help someone else win something, it feels even better, because it lasts longer, it might even last all your life. Uh-huh, she’d said at the time, not believing him for a second. And just the other day, a woman at work who was selling war bonds had said, “People say you should give till it hurts. I say you should give till it stops hurting. Know what I mean?”

“I do,” Kitty said. But here was something Kitty meant: she was going to buy herself a pretty dress now and then, even if she hardly ever got to wear it. A girl had to live.