Waiting for Sunrise (6 page)

6

Spring 1948

Life in Trinity came easier to Patsy than she could have expected. She made loads of friends at school, and her social life—centered mostly around the church on Sundays and Wednesday nights, matinees on Saturdays, and school activities during the week—kept her busy. Her home life was filled with warmth and laughter. Though she was not formally adopted, within months of moving in with the Buchwalds, she took their surname as her own. There had been no talk of it. No discussion whatsoever. After Christmas break and a return to school in 1947, Patsy simply signed her name on her first homework assignment as PATSY SWEENY BUCHWALD. She soon dropped the SWEENY, even though it remained on her report cards, which were filled with satisfactory marks.

No one in Trinity questioned her about the name change. She supposed that, to anyone who knew the family, it made sense. Who wouldn’t want to be a Buchwald? Mam
loved
. She touched. She stroked Patsy’s arm as she spoke with her and even held her hand when a word of discipline—though rare—was necessary. Papa was a firm force of strength and a rock of faith. Patsy thought him the wisest man she’d ever known, yet deep inside him stirred gleeful fun and mischief.

And Lloyd, her full-blooded brother, held the personality of both parents. His adoration of his older sister could not be denied, nor his boyish charm and intellect. He and Patsy often took long walks down pathways snaking throughout their property, and it was during these times he shared with her his thoughts of being adopted and his dreams of the future.

“Mam says,” he told her during one such walk, “that most adopting parents don’t like to tell their children that they weren’t born to them.” He reached forward and snapped a low-lying twig barring their way, then proceeded to peel off its leaves, one at a time. “But Mam says that our house is never to have secrets. That secrets can destroy a home. A family.”

“So you always knew . . . you’ve always known.”

“Yep. As far back as I can remember.” He pointed toward the straw-laden path. “Be careful right up there. There’s a dip that can trip you up.”

Patsy smiled at her brother. “You must have spent a lot of time in these woods.”

He shrugged. “When you’re an only child—or at least you might as well be—you tend to learn to play by yourself. And learn to like it too.” He squinted up at her. “Tell me about my brothers. Our mother . . .”

The request was painful to fulfill, but Patsy complied. She always did when Lloyd came to her, wanting to know stories of their familial history. She told him what she knew—stories of their parents’ love for each other, their father’s death and mother’s struggle afterward—and when he asked questions without answers, she stated simply, “That I don’t know. I clearly don’t.”

It seemed to be enough.

———

Patsy turned fifteen in the spring of ’48. Mam allowed her to invite her three best friends—Rayette Peachman, Sandra Bedwell, and Janice Milstrap—for a Friday night spend-the-night party. Papa grilled hot dogs, and later on around a bonfire, the girls made s’mores and drank Coca-Colas while Lloyd and one of his buddies pestered them mercilessly.

For the past year and a half, Patsy had done everything with Rayette, Sandra, and Janice. They weren’t allowed to date yet—not even sixteen-year-old Rayette—but they spent plenty of time talking about the day when they finally could. That night around the bonfire was no exception.

“The spring cotillion is in two weeks, girls,” Rayette announced. “Everyone got their dress?”

Patsy nodded. She and Mam had spent hours working on hers, sewn from a Butterick pattern, made with spaghetti straps and from the most baby of peach taffeta. The full skirt was tied off at the waist with a wide satin bow in the back; it made a lovely swishing sound when Patsy walked around the house wearing it and practiced her dance steps with Papa. “Mine is in my closet,” she said. “I can show it to you when we go inside.”

Sandra lay back on the grass and drew her knees toward her chest before crossing her ankles. “If only we were allowed to be invited by a boy to the dance. All this ‘come alone, leave alone’ stuff is so boring.”

Janice giggled. “You are so dramatic, Sandra, if not totally boy crazy.” Her wavy blonde tresses swung about her shoulders and she tipped her head sideways. “I know you’ve gotten over my brother—he told me he hasn’t gotten a single letter from you in three months. So spill . . . who in Trinity are you hoping to dance with?”

Sandra cut her eyes teasingly at Janice. “Hmm . . . Donny West . . . Michael Donaldson . . . Marvin Coates—”

“Marvin Coates!” the girls all said at once.

Sandra pushed herself up and onto her elbows with her sneakered feet flat on the dark grass. “What?” She pouted. “I think he’s cute.”

“Cute?” Rayette spat with a roll of her eyes. “He’s all . . . I don’t know . . . brainy.”

Patsy tucked her legs up under her, hating to see Marvin, who was certainly nice enough, being made a spectacle of. “But in an adorable Cary Grant sort of way
.
”

“Thank you, Patsy,” Sandra said with a nod.

“Well, if anyone is interested,” Janice interjected, “my brother is coming home, and for good this time.”

“Really?” Rayette said. “I’ll have to tell Paulette. I mean, she’s practically engaged to be married now, but her feelings for Gilbert very well could stop the wedding.” She grinned. “Now wouldn’t that be just the scandal of the year.”

It seemed to Patsy she was always laughing when she was with her friends, and she did so now. “Oh, Rayette. Don’t say such things. It’s very obvious Paulette loves . . . what’s his name, did you say?”

This time they all laughed until finally Sandra stood and said, “Come on, Patsy. Let’s go inside so you can show us your dress.”

They gathered their s’more-making supplies and kicked out the fire before heading toward the looming house, which had grown dark in the shadows of evening. Rayette and Sandra walked ahead of Janice and Patsy, who said, “When will Gilbert be home?”

“In two weeks. He’s hoping to be back in time for the dance. Principal Marksfield asked Gilbert to come. Even though he’s older and all, he thought it would be nice to have him as a guest of honor.”

“Because he’s a local hero.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“So what will he do now that he won’t be in the Air Force anymore?”

“He’ll go to work at Daddy’s service station. Gilbert is a wonderful mechanic. You know that’s what he did in the Air Force. Mechanics.”

Patsy nodded but said nothing. Being a mechanic was an okay job, yet she couldn’t help but think it was something of a letdown after being in the Air Force. Then again, she thought as she entered the back door and stepped into the kitchen still warm from the evening meal, maybe it would be nothing short of sweet relief.

———

A major difference in living with the Buchwalds rather than with her mother was attending Miss Grace’s School of Charm. Miss Grace Brindamour, who lived in the biggest and certainly the nicest home in Trinity, was not only the owner of the etiquette school but also a dear friend of Mam’s. After Patsy had settled in, Miss Grace insisted that Mam enroll her. Not that Patsy minded; her new friends also attended the twice-a-week classes. There, in the heavily decorated Victorian rooms, they learned about poise and posture—how to sit, how to walk, how to stand—voice and diction, proper introductions, dance skills (“And none of that new swing dancing, boys and girls”), party and dining etiquette, and the loveliness of true, inner beauty. Though Miss Grace taught all the best boys and girls of Trinity, most classes were not integrated, male and female. The element of male to female charisma was not something Miss Grace liked to talk about, much less allude to. Occasionally, however, she ventured into the fragile territory of propriety, and when she did, she was clearly uncomfortable.

These lessons always left Patsy and her friends in fits of giggles the following day.

The spring cotillion was an annual event that brought Miss Grace’s lessons of proper social event planning to the gymnasium for the middle- and upperclassmen of Trinity School. Months had been spent in preparation. Weeks were spent turning the athletic feel of the gym to a more subtle, romantic setting.

The young ladies of Trinity were expected to arrive to the cotillion in formal dress, young men in coat and tie.

While Patsy had been excited to go the first year, this year she was beside herself. She was nearly sixteen now, and Mam had said she could wear lipstick and a little of her perfume.

“Once you are dressed,” Mam said the afternoon of the dance, “then you can apply the lipstick. But spray the scent while you are still in your slip so there’s no chance of staining the material of your dress.”

Lipstick and perfume . . .

She refused to have any thoughts of her mother. This wasn’t about Bernice Liddle. It was about going to a dance wearing
Mam’s
lipstick.
Mam’s
perfume.

Butterflies skittered inside Patsy. She could hardly believe how happy she was. That afternoon, she took a leisurely bath and dusted herself with talcum powder. In Mam and Papa’s bedroom, she sat on the vanity stool and worked her nylons up first one leg, then the other before clamping them with garters. She stepped into the nylon half-slip—the one Mam had bought just for tonight, peach with a butterfly embroidered at the hip and the chiffon crystal pleating from the calves to the ankles. That done, she called out to Mam, who was waiting in the hallway to take her hair down from the tight pin curls.

She faced the mirror. Mam hummed as she rhythmically worked each of the bobby pins from her hair.

Patsy blinked several times. Though she tried not to think of her mother, she couldn’t help but know that Bernice Liddle had been robbed of this moment. This joy. This bonding of mother and daughter.

Not by Mam, of course. By Mr. Liddle. But Mama had allowed it to happen.

Patsy pushed a breath from her lungs.

She would not allow herself to think . . .

“Patsy?”

“I’m okay,” Patsy said past the knot forming in her throat.

“There are tears in your eyes.” She placed her hands on the round of Patsy’s shoulders and squeezed. “You miss your mother, don’t you.”

Patsy nodded; it was the only thing she knew to do. She’d conditioned herself not to talk about it, not with words. She couldn’t tell Mam—couldn’t tell anyone—how she really felt, the anger with her mother . . . a woman she missed so much. A woman lost to her.

“It’s normal, I think,” Mam said with another squeeze. “Your mother should be standing behind you now, not me.”

To some degree, Mam’s sentiments expressed what Patsy had been thinking. There was not an ounce of jealousy in Phyllis Buchwald, and for that Patsy was grateful. Neither was there a hint of condemnation in her voice. She had always been completely comfortable in her role with her new daughter, albeit different from the role she played with Lloyd. From the moment Patsy moved into the Buchwald home, Mam seemed to understand her every emotion. She never pushed Patsy to talk about them, never tried to sway her from one way to another. She was just there to listen if and when Patsy wanted to talk, which was rarely.

Patsy took in another deep breath, exhaled, and allowed her eyes to meet the large bespectacled ones in the mirror’s reflection. “You are my mother, Mam,” she said.

Mam squeezed again. “You are a dear,” she said. She reached over her for the wide-tooth comb and began to style the swirls of hair sitting atop Patsy’s head. When she was done, Mam retrieved the dress from where it lay across the bed and brought it to the vanity. Patsy stood, stepped into the dress, and held out her arms while Mam zipped and tied.

When they were done and the lipstick had been carefully applied, Mam led Patsy to where Papa and Lloyd waited. Lloyd gave a whistle but Papa said, “Well, aren’t you a beauty.”

Patsy felt herself grow warm under the adoration, but she turned a full circle so her brother and father could get the full effect of the dress.

“Yes, ma’am,” Papa said. “A real beauty.”

Mam draped a cream-colored lace shawl over Patsy’s shoulders before handing her a small clutch. “There will be someone at the cotillion to photograph, Grace said.”

Patsy nodded. “Well, I guess I’m ready.”

Papa stepped toward her and extended his arm. “Shall we go, dumplin’?”

Patsy placed her hand lightly between his wrist and elbow, just as she’d been taught by Miss Grace. “Thank you, Papa,” she said. She blew a kiss to her brother and mother and, with her father escorting her toward his car, left through the front door.

7

On the far side of the gymnasium, round tables covered in white linen were flanked by six chairs each. On the other side, an orchestra sat and played social dance tunes of the day, songs like Jo Stafford’s “Ivy” and Doris Day’s “It’s Magic.” Along one wall were tables dotted with small plates of even smaller delicacies and oversized bowls filled with dreamy punch. In center court, couples danced according to Miss Grace’s rules and under the eagle eyes of a large number of chaperones.

Patsy couldn’t remember ever having such a delightful evening as this one. Her dance card stayed full; even as she stepped lightly with one boy, another would politely step in. To her surprise, one of those interruptions was by none other than Gilbert Milstrap.

“I could hardly believe it was you,” he said as he led her, step-by-step, across the floor. Nancy Roberts, a local songbird, sang along as the band played “Now Is the Hour.”

Gilbert no longer wore a uniform. Handsome as he’d been before, he looked simply adorable in civilian clothes. His hair had grown longer than the last time she’d seen him, but the twinkle in his eye was the same.

“Janice said you were coming back,” she said, “and that you would be working for your daddy.”

“That’s right.”

“Does it feel funny? Leaving the Air Force behind and working for your father?”

“Not so funny that I’m not grateful.”

“To be home and working or to the Air Force?”

“Both.” His dimples deepened as his eyes scanned her face. “I simply cannot believe how much you’ve grown up.”

She giggled; she couldn’t help herself. “It happens, you know, when you leave and stay away for so long. Children grow up.”

“That’ll teach me not to stay away from home so long.”

Patsy looked beyond the edge of his shoulder just as Nancy’s voice crooned, “When you return you’ll find me waiting here . . .”

“Looks like I have,” he said.

Her eyes returned to his. “Have what?”

“Found you waiting here.”

Patsy wondered if she blushed. She certainly felt that she should have. There was something in the tone of his voice that set her nerves on fire. She felt like both a silly schoolgirl and a near-woman all at the same time. Nervous, she glanced around, wondering if anyone at the dance was watching them. She hoped they were and worried they might be.

“Maybe you should . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

Gilbert peered down at her. “Maybe I should what?”

Patsy shrugged. No, she couldn’t say it. Shouldn’t say it . . .

He smiled broadly. “Go on. Say what you were going to say.”

She took a deep breath. The song was over and the couples around them were clapping. Gilbert and she politely did so too.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the band leader announced, “we’re going to take a ten-minute break. Enjoy the punch and other refreshments and we’ll see you back on the dance floor in a few.”

“Good timing,” Gilbert said, cupping her elbow with his hand. “Let’s step outside and get some air.”

Patsy stopped short. “Oh, I couldn’t. I mean, Miss Grace would have a hissy fit.”

He spoke directly in her ear. “Believe me, Miss Grace has plenty of chaperones out there standing guard. The Air Force would do well to take notes from her.” He paused long enough to look into her eyes. “Besides, haven’t you heard? I’m a local hero; I can do no wrong.”

Patsy glanced toward the door. Some of her fellow students were leaving, while others were making a beeline for the refreshment tables. “Well, since you say there are chaperones . . .”

“There are.” He placed a hand over his heart. “My word as a gentleman.”

They stepped outside to the grassy area just beyond the wide gymnasium doors. The cool air of night wrapped itself around her, traveled down her slender arms, and she shivered. “Here,” Gilbert said. He slipped out of his suit coat and placed it gently over her shoulders. “Better?”

Patsy nodded. She looked behind where they stood and saw the watchful stares of three chaperones. She smiled; one of them nodded back. She laced her fingers together and allowed her hands to rest in the folds of her skirt.

“Are you going to tell me?” Gilbert asked from next to her.

She turned her face toward his. “Tell you what?”

“What you started to say in there?”

She shook her head before returning her attention to the dark grasses in front of them. “It’s silly. I have no right to tell you . . . to say . . .”

Gilbert nudged her shoulder with his. “Just say it.”

“I was just thinking you might want to dance with . . . I don’t know . . . someone like Miss Brinson.”

This time, he turned to face her. “Miss Brinson?”

She nodded. “Our home ec teacher.”

“Yeah, I know who Miss Brinson is. I actually went to school with her. Played ball with her brother, Whitey. But why in the world would you think I’d want to dance with Loretta Brinson?”

She looked up at him. “Well, she’s pretty.”

“She’s all right.”

“And she’s single.”

“So is Miss Grace and you don’t see me asking her to dance.”

Patsy swatted at Gilbert’s arm. “Shhh . . . Gilbert, that’s not nice.” But she laughed anyway.

He laughed along with her. “Okay. So aside from being a teacher and pretty and single . . . why, pray tell, should I want to dance with her?”

Patsy felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Well, she
is
more your age. Like you said, you grew up with her. This is her first year teaching, you know.”

The playfulness in Gilbert’s face fell away, and Patsy immediately regretted her words.

“I said something wrong . . .”

“Nah.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I’m sorry . . . I just thought . . .”

Then he smiled again. “Look, little sister, I think I’m old enough and I’ve been around enough to know who I want to dance with.” He touched the tip of her nose with his fingertip. “And right now, I want to dance with you. I looked across that wide gymnasium, and not one girl in there can hold a candle to what I saw when I saw you.”

Patsy’s head tilted a little to the right. “Really?”

“So, do a war hero a favor, will you?”

Patsy nodded, too floored to say another word.

Gilbert reached for the dance card dangling from her wrist. He took a moment to study it before slipping it over her hand and then handing it to her. “For the rest of the evening, make mine the only name on this card.”

———

Patsy felt she could have slept the day away, but it being a Sunday, she was “up and at ’em” by seven a.m. The breakfast table conversation included wanting moment-by-moment details of the previous night’s events, but Patsy remained vague, saying only that it was “dreamy.”

Mam and Papa smiled at each other, Lloyd shrugged, and Patsy sighed into her oatmeal. She couldn’t wait to get to church. To see Rayette and Sandra. They would know right off if her dancing with Gilbert had caused a stir within their peer group. Or with the teachers and other adults.

And, heaven forbid, with Miss Grace. If that were the case, Miss Grace would make a beeline for Mam before Sunday school. Patsy would probably be forbidden from doing anything with her friends. Instead, she’d have to endure “a talk” with her parents. The very thought made her shudder.

“Patsy?” Mam said. “You okay?”

Patsy looked across the round table. “What? Oh. Yes, ma’am. I’m fine.” She looked at the bowl of lumpy hot cereal sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, raisins, and roasted nuts. “But not really hungry. May I be excused?”

Mam nodded. “Yes, you may.”

A couple of hours later, Patsy met Rayette and Sandra outside the church.

“Spill, spill, spill,” Rayette demanded as soon as they’d pulled her from hearing distance of Patsy’s parents and little brother.

She feigned ignorance. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Sandra folded her slender arms. “I should be furious with you, you know.” Then she smiled. “But you’re one of my best friends, so I’m choosing to forgive you.”

Patsy smiled back. “I don’t know what happened. He just asked me to dance and I—”

“Couldn’t say no?” Rayette offered.

Patsy shook her head. “Could you have?”

“Probably not. But, as you said to Sandra once upon a Sunday not too long ago, isn’t he a little old for you?”

Patsy glanced at her watch and thought back to the afternoon she first stumbled into Gilbert Milstrap. In those days, they were—she was—too young for a man Gilbert’s age. But she was fifteen now. Barely, but she felt eons away from the little girl who’d sat crying on a bus headed for Trinity. “We’d best get moving toward Sunday school or Mam will want to know what’s going on.”

The girls started walking toward the large brick building.

“I take it,” Rayette said, “that you aren’t going to answer me about the age difference.”

“Seven years, four months, twenty days.” Patsy, who had been walking between her friends, stopped at the doorway to the Sunday school wing. “I did the math as soon as he told me he was a Thanksgiving baby.”

“And when was that?” Sandra asked, opening the door for them.

The trio stepped through. A throng of other churchgoers were milling about the hallway. Patsy made a shushing noise before mumbling, “Last night. In between dances.” She inhaled quickly. “Miss Grace just walked into her classroom.” She pulled her friends over to the left side wall for the smallest semblance of privacy. “Listen, you two, did you hear any mumblings from the teachers or Miss Grace last night?”

Rayette and Sandra exchanged glances before nodding. “Oh yeah. Miss Grace’s frown was deeper than Old Coopers Lake.”

It was Patsy’s turn to frown. “Wonderful. I’m sure she’ll speak to Mam. Mam will talk to Papa and Papa will tell me I can’t see Gilbert again.”

“Again?” The girls said in unison.

Rayette’s face turned serious. “Patsy, you can’t
see
Gilbert Milstrap.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because, he’ll tarnish your reputation,” Sandra answered. “He’s too old. You’re too young. Besides, we’re not allowed to date yet, remember? Do you honestly think a man who has been in the Air Force is going to be okay with doing stuff in groups only? Church socials and the like?”

Patsy hadn’t thought that far. She looked at the toes of her black patent Sunday shoes. “Probably not,” she mumbled as the Sunday school bell rang.

“Come on,” Rayette said, pulling on her arm. “We’ve got to go to class.” She looped her arm in Patsy’s as they stepped toward the center of the hallway. “Listen, Patsy, don’t worry about it. Miss Grace will talk to Mam, no doubt about it. You’ll get a lecture and then it’ll all be over.”

Patsy looked up at the pretty redhead. “But what if Gilbert
does
ask me out?”

“Tell him you can’t date. That simple.”

But it wasn’t that simple and Patsy knew it. If Gilbert asked her out, she’d
want
to go. Granted, she wouldn’t be allowed to date him, but what
if
he wanted to do things with her and her friends? What
if
he was okay with church socials and school functions?

It was a big “what if,” but . . . what
if
?

———

The big crisis of the day was not that Miss Grace told Mam about Patsy dancing with Gilbert; she never had the chance.

Gilbert Milstrap showed up at Trinity Methodist Church between Sunday school and church. As Patsy and her Sunday school classmates rounded the corner of the building in order to head up the stretch of steps to the sanctuary, Patsy spied him standing near the marquee. He spotted her too; he gave a quick wave, a deep grin, and walked right toward her.

She broke from her pals to meet him halfway in the midst of all the good members of Trinity Methodist, including Mam and Papa. Patsy threw a momentary silent prayer up to God, asking that nothing happen within the next few minutes to embarrass her.

“Hey, little sister,” Gilbert said when she’d reached him. He looked handsome, dressed pretty much as he’d been the night before, in a dark blue loose-fitting suit, complete with a double-breasted coat.

“Gilbert,” she breathed out. “What are you doing here?”

He continued smiling. “That’s a fine way to welcome a visitor to your church.”

“But you’re a Baptist.”

With that he nearly roared. One of her fellow church members walked over and shook Gilbert’s hand. Patsy hardly noticed who it was. She heard, “Gilbert, how are you doing?” followed by Gilbert’s answer, “Fine, fine,” but her eyes never left the young man’s face.

“Gilbert,” she said again.

But before she could say another word, Lloyd was at her side. “Mam says come on in, Patsy.”

Lloyd had grown a lot in the last two years; he and Patsy stood shoulder to shoulder now. Patsy turned to him. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”

Lloyd didn’t move. He just stared from Patsy to Gilbert and then back to Patsy again.

“Go,” Patsy demanded.

Lloyd scooted off and Gilbert chuckled. “Okay, so are you going to invite me in?”

She glanced toward the doors of the church. “Uh, yeah. But I can’t sit with you, Gilbert.”

They started toward the steps. Only a few stragglers remained outside, and most of them were staring openly.