Truths and Half Truths

Chapter Fourteen - Loose Ends

Hugh Henry Houtton nodded to Nestor Danyluk as they passed by one another, Hugh Henry on his walk home from the railway office, Nestor ambling home from his job with the city's Department of Road Maintenance (which consisted, as far as Hugh Henry could tell, of leaning on a shovel, smoking cigarettes with a group of fellows named Alec and Metro and watching a lone worker fill up and empty out the same pothole for eight hours a day.  The thought never failed to irritate Hugh Henry, whose contempt for labour unions was matched only by his deep suspicion of Catholics. )

He swung up the sidewalk of the brownstone bungalow, the western exposure bathed in sunlight, the tiny porch (how he missed the giant old verandah they used to have!) crowded with a pair of deep green Muskoka chairs.  As he opened the front door, he glanced to his left - in the corner of the porch, behind one of the chairs, was a khaki duffle bag.  Stencilled on the kit was: Ling, J.A.  Flt. Lt.

Hugh Henry paused and regarded the kit thoughtfully, then nodded to himself and carried on.  Helen was bustling around the kitchen.  He dropped his black lunch box on the sideboard as he passed by on his way down to the back bedroom.  There,  he took off his narrow black tie, draped it over the closet doorknob, exchanged his short-sleeved white work shirt for a virtually identical short-sleeved white evening shirt, and came back to the kitchen.

"So ...," he said, as Helen pecked him on the cheek.

"How was your day, my darlin'?" asked Helen, her face all innocence save for the sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

Hugh Henry played along.  "It was lovely, dear.  The Prime Minister dropped by for lunch.  I shared my sandwich with him.  Asked me what he should do to put all these young fellows back to work now they're coming home from over.  I told him I'd talk to you and call him in the morning.  So, just a day.  Anything unusual happen around here?"

Helen grinned.  "Nothing out of the ordinary.  Got the laundry out on the line - lovely to see the sun, it dried so quickly.  Your Mary Lou stopped by, to say her interview went well.  And ... oh, let me think ..."

" ... and she had a visitor?" added Hugh Henry, ever so helpfully.

"Ah, yes.  Nice young man stopped over.  They've gone for a wee walk."  Helen dropped the last few pieces of beef in the stewing pot, to swim with the quartered potatoes and cut vegetables.

Hugh Henry sat at the kitchen table as Helen took some lemonade from the ice box and poured two glasses.  "And how did she --"

The front door burst open and Vera barrelled into the room.  "Where are they?"

"They've gone for a walk, dear," said Helen, reaching for another glass from the cupboard.  "I expect they'll be back for supper."

"Did she yell at him?  Cry?  What did she say?" 

Helen smiled.  "She seemed quite ... pleased.  Excited.  And they went for a walk.  Let's all go sit on the porch.  It's such a lovely evening.  We'll know soon enough."

"I can only imagine what she's saying to him right now," said Vera, rubbing her hands with a savage glee.  "I wouldn't like to be in his shoes.  Not with Mary's temper.  I bet he's wishing he'd gone home to Vancouver.  Can't you just see the look in her eyes as she gives him what for ...?"

Hugh Henry nodded.  He'd spent the last quarter of a century with women who had, one by one, mastered that look.  He'd seen it before.

                                                     ******************************

Mary stole another adoring glance at Justin as they rode the bus in thoughtful silence, their hands intertwined.  "My fiancée," she thought.  Then: "Take that, Verna Hextall."  She giggled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

They stepped off the bus a block from her parents' place.  She took his arm as they walked, now and again stretching out her left arm and admiring the ring he had given her, how it caught the sun and sparkled and looked utterly perfect on her hand, more perfect than any ring she had ever seen, tried on, or even imagined.

They had been engaged for about one hour.

They had spent, in total, twelve hours together.  Twelve hours.

Neither felt that this was crazy.  In fact, to both it felt like the sanest thing they had ever done.  But they were under no illusions that everybody would share their view.

"How are we going to do this?"  Justin asked Mary.  "I mean, we can't just blurt it out to them."

"I haven't quite worked it out," said Mary.  "I'll come up with something."

"You might want to move that forward on your 'to-do' list.  There they are.  On the porch."

"Don't worry, silly.  My dad doesn't own a gun,"  Mary said with a giggle, quickly slipping her left hand into her jacket pocket.  She didn't add "... but he does have an impressive collection of antique hunting knives."

                                                               *************************

'You remember Justin," she said as they stopped on the porch.  Hugh Henry had stood immediately, shuffling awkwardly as he waited for them.

"Of course,"  said Hugh Henry, stiffly.  "Good to see you home safe."

"Thank you, sir," said Justin.  He smiled at Helen, who beamed back at him happily.  He turned to Mary's sister.

"Hi, Vera," he said.

Vera hoped she struck the perfect balance between dismissive and correct.  "Hello, Justin," she said.  "Welcome home."

It was Mary who tied the bell to the cat. 

"Justin and I talked about a lot of things," she said.  "Including about why he didn't write to me.  He says he didn't think I'd wait around for him, that if he wrote me it would never work out, that instead he thought he'd wait till he got home and we could do this right.  I've thought about it and I think it was the right way to go.  If I were mad at him, I'd expect you all to be.  But I'm not.  Is that okay with everybody?"

Of course they all deferred to Mary's challenging posture, as she knew they would.  She smiled inwardly.  "Here we go ..." she thought.

"In fact, Justin and I have talked about it and decided that we're in love.  And that we ought to be married," she said, simply. 

She took her hand out of her pocket, intending to casually let it dangle at her hip, but Vera was on it like a jungle cat on a wounded gazelle.  Mary winced as Vera squeezed her hand, inspecting the ring. 

For once Vera had nothing to say.  She slowly turned to Hugh Henry.  Mary and Justin turned to Hugh Henry.  And finally Helen turned to Hugh Henry, her delight and excitement barely hidden.

For his part, Hugh Henry could not take his eyes from Mary Lou's face.  She had always been a joy of a child - his bright shiny penny.  He knew he allowed her latitude the other girls would never have, but he found it utterly impossible to resist her smile, her giggle, the way her eyes shone when he could do something that made her happy.

And now this.

Mary turned to look at Justin, and the expression of happiness and love on her face made it all so easy.

Hugh Henry cleared his throat, looked at his wife, wiped his hands on his pants, and thrust his right hand towards Justin.  "Well, young fellow, Mary Lou has said it's all clear between you, and if she's of a mind to forgive, then who am I to question it?  I guess she's thought this through a bit, and I reckon you have as well.  So congratulations, and over supper maybe we can talk some more about how this will all unfold."

Vera gaped, open-mouthed.  She'd seen Mary get away with murder in the past, but this ... this was insanity.  She drew a breath  to say something, but felt a sharp pain as Helen's fingers dug into the soft flesh above her elbow.

"Come, Vera," Helen whispered.  "I'll be needin' some help in the kitchen.  So you just come with me.  Now."

                              ****************************************

That night over an Irish stew, Justin regaled the family with stories of life in wartime Britain, of air raids and dogfights and the privations he witnessed and the spirit he so admired in the Brits. 

He talked, too, about his plans for the future - about the bakery in Haney, B.C. that his father was ready to turn over to him, about his plans to prepare a place for Mary out there and how they would build a life together.  He spoke plainly and honestly, from the heart, and if Hugh Henry had doubts in this young man they quickly fell away.  Helen beamed, her smile the smile of a woman who knew something all along.

Even Vera found herself won over by evening's end.  When Helen offered Justin the use of their sofa that night (the girls would share their old room), she had no objection; in fact, it was she who kept him up long after he was bleary-eyed, asking for yet one more story about his adventures overseas.

Soon, though, even Vera had reached her limit of stories and wandered off to bed.  Helen had long since retired, leaving Justin, Mary, and Hugh Henry in the tiny living room.

"I suppose Mary Lou and I ought to let you sleep," said Hugh Henry, pointedly but good-naturedly.

"I'm fair beat," Justin admitted.  "It's been quite a day."  He squeezed Mary's hand gently.

"I'll be off then," said Hugh Henry.  "Mary, I'll be done in the washroom in about ... two minutes."  No doubt hung in the air about when Mary was expected to join Vera in the back bedroom.  Hugh Henry wandered off down the hall, leaving the two of them alone.

Mary admired the way the light from the table lamp danced off her ring.  "How did you know I would love this ring?" she asked.

Justin took her hand in his.  "Some things you just know," he said. 

For sixty years and more, that has been his answer to questions of the heart.  "Some things you just know."  He just knew that this woman he'd only spent twelve hours with would be the love of his life.  He just knew it was right to ask her to marry him.  He just knew, the first moment he laid eyes on it, that this particular ring was perfect.

"Some things you just know."

                                                  ******************

As Mary wandered off to bed, Justin lay on the sofa, covered by a drably coloured woollen blanket, his head still buzzing with the events of the day.  He made a note to call his mom and dad the next afternoon; they'd want to know.  They would tell his sisters.  Maybe he'd call Paul to give him the news.

It was just as he was drifting off into sleep that he remembered.  He winced, awake again. 

"Eva," he thought. 

He drifted off.  Plenty of time to tie up that particular loose end, he supposed.

But he never did get around to it.  In fact, she remained a loose end for 27 years.

                                                    ******************

Winnipeg, Manitoba - August, 1971

Sunday dinner was always important in Justin and Mary's house.  It was, as much as anything, the best way to keep tabs on the comings and goings of their two sons and four daughters.

Six kids in nine years (the running joke was the nurses at the Maternity Hospital had, after a while, suggested he stop visiting).  The bakery fell by the wayside early on and Justin had stepped easily back into the military.  He and Mary and the family had bounced from post to post around Western Canada, finally ending the journey with his retirement in Winnipeg.

Mary glanced out the window at Justin, sweating in the August heat as he pushed the ancient rotary mower around the yard.  She shook her head once again at his stubbornness.  "Cheap bastard," she thought with an affectionate grin. 

She had been after him for years to buy a gas mower (or one of those new electric ones!) but he insisted he preferred to wrestle with the rotary.  He pointed to the exercise it provided him, but she knew it was more about the money;  specifically, that he would never stretch the budget to buy a luxury for himself.  Luxuries for her were a different matter; she'd long since despaired of talking him out of buying her anything she wanted.  He was relentless in trying to please her.  He always had been, and she knew he always would be.  There were, she suspected, worse faults a husband could have.

Mary checked the steaks as she walked past the charcoal grille.  Almost done.  She poked Justin, who was muttering under his breath as he tried to un-jam the locked blades of the mower ("Goddamn twigs") and handed him an ice-cold bottle of Carling Black Label Beer ("Yoo-hoo, Mabel!  Black Label!"). 

Justin touched the stubby bottle to his forehead, letting the condensation mix with the sweat, and blessed her with a grateful, loving grin.  All these years and his eyes still made her weak in the knees.

By the summer of 1971, the two oldest daughters had left the house, but with the inevitable boyfriends, girlfriends, and hangers-on their kids attracted, that still meant a good-sized crowd would be gathered around the giant table in the dining room.  As Mary unwrapped the foil around the carrots fresh off the barbecue, the youngest of the clan burst through the front door, a tornado in reverse, strewing clothing and sandals and a wet bathing suit and towel and other effects from her weekend up at a new boyfriend's cottage across the foyer and down the hall.  Mary rolled her eyes.

Dinner was, as always, chaotic and noisy.  The rest of the family listened, amused, as their baby sister chattered on about her new beau, about waterskiing and swimming and the palatial cottage in an exclusive resort area.  Halfway through the main course, she suddenly remembered:

"Oh, Dad.  There was this nice lady there, visiting from B.C., a friend of Greg's parents.  When I told her my name she got really interested.  And when I told her your name, she just smiled a weird kind of smile and said "Tell your father "Hi" from Eva C --."  But the funny thing is, that wasn't her name.  Greg introduced her as Mrs. Anderson or somethng like that.  Anyway, she says "Hi"."

Justin's fork stopped in mid-air.  He became suddenly aware that every eye in the room had turned to him.

Including Mary's.

Chapter Thirteen - Face to Face

Justin stopped with his foot on the bottom step and he looked up into Mary's face, framed by the screen door. 

Mary opened the door, stepped out onto the porch, and stood there, wondering if the shaking she felt was just on her insides or whether he could see she was trembling like a leaf. 

The silence between them stretched as taut as a banjo string.

It was Mary who broke it. 

"If you're here with Watkins' products, we have a regular salesman," she said.

Justin grinned and dropped his kit on the lawn.  "Hi," he said.

Mary smiled cautiously.  "Hi."

Two steps and he was beside her, and then she was in his arms.  And then he kissed her.

The kiss lasted perhaps five seconds.  Just that long.  Count Mississippis: One ... two ... three ... four ... five.

In those five Mississippis, Justin made the two best decisions of his life.

                                                   *****************************

Mary's head was spinning.  For some reason, she suddenly remembered a girl at school named Shirley Sinclair who, if she got very excited, would keel over and pass out.  She guessed she was as close to that feeling now as she'd ever been in her life. 

So, while Justin was savouring their first kiss in two years, all Mary could think was:

"Please, God, just don't let me faint ...."

She didn't.

                                            ***************************************

The kiss ended before either of them wanted it to.  Mary pushed herself back to look up into his face and catch her breath.  She was sure she must be blushing - her face felt on fire - and she was grateful his arms were still around her. 

"Pull yourself together," she thought.

"Welcome home," she said.

"I finally feel home," said Justin. 

He could not take his eyes off her.  In the two years they'd been apart, he thought he had kept alive a clear picture of her face.  His memory was superb, and in fact he'd been worried that he might have idealized her beauty, that he might have remembered her as being far more gorgeous than she really was.

"What?  You're doing that thing again.  Staring.  I hate that," said Mary.

"I thought you couldn't be as beautiful as I remembered, but you really are.  More, in fact."

"That's nice of you to say, but stop staring."  She didn't think she'd tell him just yet how well she'd remembered those blue eyes and how two years hadn't dimmed the colour one bit.

"So ... umm ... do you want to go for a walk?" 

"I'll check with my mother," said Mary, and went back inside.  Justin sat down on the steps and lit a cigarette. 

"This wasn't how things were supposed to go," he thought..  "Nothing like this at all."

                                                           *****************************

Helen was in the kitchen,  She'd heard the front door open, but thought little of it - travelling salesmen were always about and Mary could more than handle saying "No" to any smooth talker.

Mary came through the doorway and Helen looked up into her face - and immediately began drying her hands on her apron.  "Mary Lou?  What is it, dear?"

"It's Justin.  He came home.  He came ... here."

Helen stopped wiping and looked closely into her daughter's face.  Then, carefully:  "So ... ."

"So he wants to go for a walk."

Helen nodded.  "I suppose you should go, then.  I'm sure you'll have lots to talk about."

"I won't be long," Mary promised.

Helen smiled softly.  "You take the time you need, dear.  Are we expecting him for supper?"

"I don't know.  I suppose it depends."

"I suppose it does," nodded Helen.  "You can tell me when you come back from your walk."

"Will Daddy be home ...?"

"You don't worry about your father.  I'll speak with him.  Now, go.  Goodness knows you've both waited long enough for this."

                                                           ************

Arnie Carson paused to check his camera bag for film.  Four packs left.  He might still make something out of this day.  He paid for his tuna sandwich and tomato soup and left the downtown Edmonton diner.

It was a crummy way to make a buck, taking snaps of likely-looking passersby and flogging the photos to them, unseen and undeveloped.  Most folks just dusted him off; some swore at him.  One lady had hit him with her pocketbook and demanded he give her the film pack from his camera or she'd call the cops.  He'd had to do it - he didn't have a business license.  That little encounter had cost him a couple of bucks.

He headed down to Jasper Avenue, the heart of downtown.  His photographer's eye swept the street, looking for the sure bet - a young guy with a beautiful dame, some sap who wouldn't want to look like a cheapskate in front of the lady.

Someone would come along, sooner or later.  He settled in, sitting on the bumper of a parked car, and waited.

                                                           **************

Mary pulled the charcoal half-jacket over her white blouse and did up the middle button, suddenly grateful for the earlier job interview; she looked her best.  She smoothed the puckers in her blouse, checked her hair in the mirror, and added a tiny matching charcoal hat to the ensemble; it was jaunty, almost (but not quite) a beret.  A "Tam", they called it.  She grabbed her pocketbook off the chair in the hall and opened the front door.

"My mother says she doesn't need my help, and to go with you if I want.  So where do you want to go?"

"You're from here.  You pick."

"Well, there's nothing much to see around this neighbourhood.  It's getting all built up, and they've run the highway through so a lot of old houses and trees disappeared.  So I'll tell you what:  Let's go downtown and window shop."

"Fine by me," said Justin.

The two headed towards the bus stop.  Somewhere along the way, her hand fell into his, and she smiled inwardly.

"His palms are all sweaty," she thought.  Then:  "Good."

                                                  ***************

Considering the question that hung unanswered in the air, the conversation on the trip downtown was inconsequential: what she'd been doing, where she was living, his train trip across Canada to get here, her parents' move.  Everything, and nothing.

They got off the bus at a park near the North Saskatchewan River and walked down to a path near the water.  There were benches along the way for young lovers to sit and whisper to one another or old people to perch and feed the ducks and geese.  They found an empty one and sat.

A few ducks swam idly over, waited, saw there would be no reward, lost interest, and paddled off in search of an old woman in a babuschka or an old man in a fedora with brown paper bags full of breadcrumbs.

"Time to bell the cat," thought Justin.

"Here it comes," thought Mary.

                                             *********************

"So, I didn't write," said Justin.

"Really?" Mary grinned feebly.  "Who notices these things?  But yes, now you mention it, you didn't write.  At all."

"The thing is ..."  Justin began.  His rehearsed story was so convincing: Top Secret assignment ... no chance of communicating ... wish I'd been able to ...

... but in that earlier kiss, the first decision he'd made was to tell the truth.

" ... I could have and just didn't.  And it wasn't because I didn't want to and it wasn't because I didn't think of you every day - I did."

"So ..."  Mary was relieved that he hadn't come up with the "Top Secret" story that Meryl Pasternak had gotten from her Jimmy, and which had exploded in his face.  Mary would have been out of the park and back on the bus home so fast he'd have needed one of his airplanes to catch her.

"So the thing is ... I never imagined you'd wait for me.  Or that you cared, at all.  Or that you'd want to hear from me."

"But you came for dinner.  We went for ice cream.  I let you kiss me.  Why would you think I didn't care?"

"Well, lots of girls let the boys kiss them on the way overseas.  Some guys collected them - called them "Farewell Kisses".  You know, "Let's go, boys, see who can get the most "Farewell Kisses"!"  That kinda thing.  I'm not saying you're easy or anything --," Justin stopped and spread his hands, in a "... you understand?" gesture.

But Mary didn't.  "So you thought I was just being ... what, kind?"  Mary was mystified.

"Well, yeah.  I mean, look at you.  You're beautiful.  You're smart.  You're funny.  I bet you walk into a room and every guy turns to look ..."

"Oh, come on ..." the protest was automatic, but the truth was, it had happened, and she couldn't fail to be aware of it.

"I've seen it, just walking down the street.  And the thing is ... girls like you don't end up with guys like me.  You end up with the rich guy, or the tall, dark, and handsome type.  I'm none of those things.  I'm a baker's son from Vancouver,"  he said, simply.  And to Justin, that said it all.  "Don't you get it?"

"No, I certainly don't get it," Mary snapped.  "Who makes this "decision" about who I end up with?  When does it happen?  On my birthday?  Which one?  And do I get my choice of several tall, dark, handsome, rich fellows?  Because I'd like to have some say in the matter. "

Justin waded in cautiously.  "So ... you'd have picked me?"

"I did pick you, silly.  Two years ago."

"Why?"  Sincerely baffled.

"Why did you pick me?  Why did you come all the way here instead of Vancouver, and go to all the trouble of finding my parents' new house -- .  How did you find their new house, by the way?"

"Verna."

"Ah.  And here you are.  Why?"

"Well ... I guess ... because I love you."

"And I guess I love you, too."

"Oh."

"Yeah.  Oh."

They both sat on the bench, Justin staring at the ground, Mary out at the ducks on the river, an awkward silence growing as they realized the enormity of what they had just admitted.  Finally, Justin had to say something.  Anything.

" So, uh ... do you want to go window shopping now?"

"Oh.  Okay.  Sure."

                                                ************************

Arnie looked East on Jasper Avenue.  Early afternoon shoppers, mostly.  It was getting a bit brisk - the sun had ducked in behind some clouds.  Great for shooting, if only he could find someone to shoot.

He saw them about a block away, a young fellow in a light blue shirt, obviously ex-military from how he carried himself, and a gorgeous babe in a charcoal suit.  Perfect.  He leaned back against the mail truck at the curb and steadied his hand, following them in his viewfinder as they got nearer.  He waited until they filled the frame, and just as the young guy looked at his girl, Arnie tripped the shutter.

                                                      ***********************************

"Ho-ho-hey, young fella, hold up a second.  I have just taken what I guarantee will be a beautiful picture of you and this gorgeous young lady.  A keepsake of your afternoon together, a snapshot of this lovely day and this handsome couple.  How about it?  Would you like to purchase a copy of this photograph for posterity?"

"How much ...?"

"Well, now, I wouldn't think with a beautiful young woman like this, price would be much of an obect.  But even if it was, you're in luck.  It's Monday afternoon, I'm tired and it's getting chilly and I'll give you a deal.  Two dollars."

"Two dollars?"

"A buck fifty.  I have to pay for the film, and then there's the chemicals and the darkroom and ..."

"Okay.  A buck fifty."  Justin peeled a one dollar bill off a fairly thin roll, then fished around for a couple of quarters.  He dropped them into the photographer's hand and said, "Now, how do we get this picture?"

Arnie gave Justin a pen and a notebook and told him to write down his address.  "I'll send it to you the second it's dry," he promised.

"Sure," said Justin, and he winked at Mary.  "You do that."

As he walked away, Justin said to her, "There's a buck and a half I'll never see again.  He probably never even had film in that camera."

But Arnie Carson was an honest man.

                                                    ********************

They walked on for about an hour after that, looking in store windows , not really saying much of anything.  There was a television in the window of an appliance store, a giant, flashy display with the appliance itself hulking in the centre, a massive mahogany cabinet around a glass screen that looked for all the world like the lens from a giant's spectacles.  In the display, a black and white photo was taped to the screen to simulate what the picture might be like, had Edmonton had a broadcast signal.

Mary admired some dresses, new for the summer season; Justin got distracted over a display of fishing rods in a sporting goods store window.  They stopped for ice cream.

A spot of chocolate dripped down the front of Justin's shirt.  Mary saw it and dabbed at it with her napkin.  Justin looked down at her.  Here was the second decision he'd made in that kiss:

"So, I guess we ... should get married ..."

Mary nodded.   "I guess so."

"I have a ring.  Would you ... like to try it on?"

"You carry a ring with you?"

"I bought it this morning.  I didn't know how this was all going to go.  But I thought I needed one.  In case I did.  You know, ask you.  To marry me."

Mary nodded, as if such a thing made perfect sense.  Justin reached into his pocket. 

The box was black velvet.  He opened it and held the box out to her.

It was, she always said, the most exquisite ring she ever saw.  It wasn't fancy, but that wasn't Mary.  It was white gold, with a single diamond in a simple, plain setting.

"May I?" she asked.

"It's for you," he said.

Mary slipped her friendship ring off, and this ring on. 

It fit perfectly.  (It has always fit perfectly.  It has never once been off her left hand since that day in 1945, not even for a moment.)

"It's beautiful," she said.  "It's perfect."

They kissed, and walked arm in arm in silence for awhile.  Now and again, she would fan her fingers in front and admire the ring, sometimes with a sigh, sometimes with a disbelieving giggle.

Finally Mary spoke.

"I guess we have something else to do," she said.

"Your family?"

Mary nodded. 

"I guess when I made you unhappy, I made them unhappy," Justin said.

Mary nodded again.

Justin said, "Well, let's go home.  If I can make it right with you, I can make it right with them."

Mary smiled.  "Okay.  I'm sure they'll be fine."  But she looked worried.

Chapter Twelve - Truth? Or Consequences ...?

Justin counted down the numbers on the street signs as the bus rolled along.  Fifty blocks to go.  Forty-five.  Forty.  He began to fidget.  Thirty-five.  Thirty ...

Justin fanned himself - was it getting awfully close in this bus?  Nobody else semed to notice.  Did the windows open?

Twenty-five.  Twenty.  Fifteen ...

Justin wrestled with the window, but a wicked Edmonton winter had welded the windows shut, and nothing would budge the damn thing.

Fourteen.  Thirteen.  Twel --

Justin yanked on the bell cord and the driver guided the slowing bus up to the next stop.  It coasted to a halt with a grunt and a hiss, and Justin pushed on the exit door, trying to will it open, and stumbled forward off-balance when it finally did.  He gasped in some fresh air,  slung his kit onto the grassy boulevard, plopped down on it, and lit a smoke.

"Christ.  What am I doing?" he thought.  "What am I going to say to her?"

Verna Hextall's words echoed in his head.  "I can only imagine her heartbreak,"  Verna had said.  "I would have thought the Christian thing to do would have been to write the occasional letter.  Do you know how long that silly girl mooned over you, young man?  She may be mooning still.  I think she's well shed of you ..."

Now, even allowing for the old bat's meddling and exaggeration, she did have a point.  He should have written.  He'd thought of writing, dozens, scores, hundreds of times.  Anybody else would have.  But he hadn't written a single letter in more than two years.

He'd received lots of letters.  Dozens  (although none from Mary ...).  All had gone unanswered.

He didn't suppose it would matter that he hadn't written his Mom or Dad, or his sisters, or Eva.  (He winced, and thought "Until two days ago ...").  That wasn't going to be a good enough reason.  Other guys had written their sweethearts; he'd seen them in the barracks, hunkered over their bunks, scribbling, using clipboards and cookie tins from home and whatever was to hand as a writing surface. 

Paul had written his parents religiously every Sunday (if you could call skipping Mass to write a letter "religiously").  And since Paul's parents and his were friends, Justin knew that the two families would talk, and his parents would call on Eva's folks, so everybody would know things were fine and nobody would be unduly worried.  His Mom had even said she didn't expect him to write.  Eva's letters had started off plaintively begging for - then sulkily demanding - replies, but had settled into pouting resignation on the subject. 

He just wasn't the kind of guy who wrote letters.  Ever.  "Until two days ago ..." . Another wince.

"What can I say that would make her understand?" he wondered as he stood, slung his kit over his shoulder, and started walking the ten blocks to her parents' street.

"First things first," he thought. "Her mom is going to hate me.  And her dad.  If I can make them understand, maybe they can help with Mary.  And if not, they'll never give me her new address anyway.  So I'll deal with them, and that will give me time to figure out what I'm gonna say to her."

Satisfied with this orderly, sensible plan, Justin picked up his pace along the quiet thoroughfare.  The sun was doing its best to come out, and as he walked briskly along he became warm enough to stop, stow his jacket in his kit, and check in a store window for wrinkles in his shirt. 

(It was the only really nice shirt he had - a light blue Oxford weave he'd bought in Liverpool.  He'd carefully tucked it away against the day he arrived home.  A quck shower at the YMCA in Calgary was all he'd been able to manage, and that had been yesterday.  So the best he could hope for in terms of how he looked was "not dishevelled".)

Eight blocks.  Five.  Two.

What would he say?  How could he convince them there was a good reason to not write their daughter? 

He stopped short as an idea hit him.

"Brilliant," he thought.

Lots of servicemen went overseas and found themselves in sensitive assignments.  Top secret.  Unable to write home.  It was a war, after all.  So, maybe that was it.  He would love to tell them why he didn't write, but he was still not at liberty to say.  All whispered with a knowing wink and a finger alongside the nose.  Top secret, don'tcha know?  And by the time everybody realized there was no need for it to be Top Secret anymore, either they'd have forgotten the whole matter or it wouldn't seem all that important.

And wouldn't that same little ruse work for Mary, too?  I mean, he'd been at a small base in Wales.  He didn't recall any guys from Edmonton.  And even if there had been, what were the odds she'd have run into anybody who'd met him overseas?

"Brilliant," he told himself again, and rounded the corner onto a tree-lined street as a mother walked past pushing a squawking child in a stroller.  Two kids barrelled along the sidewalk on bikes; he executed a nmble side-step to miss them.

Justin checked the numbers as he walked.  10173 ... 10175 ... and there it was.  10177.  He wondered if he'd even remember what Mary's mom looked like.  He was just hoping it wouldn't be her dad to answer the door ...

"Top Secret," he thought.  "That's the key."

His foot hit the bottom step and the door opened.

. 

Chapter Eleven - On the Sidewalk

Verna's heels clicked crisply on the sidewalk.  She rounded the hedge on two wheels, and Justin suppressed a grin at the fleeting image of a siren and a red flashing light on the top of Verna's straw summer hat.

"Imagine that.  Look who's home from over across," said Verna.  "Well, not home, I guess.  Home is ... where, again?  Somewhere in BC?  Katzenjammer?"

"Kitsilano.  Hi, Mrs. Hextall," said Justin, pleasantly.  "More flies with honey than with vinegar ... " he thought, and smiled politely.

"Hello, Verna," said the woman who now lived in Mary's house.

"Alice," sniffed Verna, dismissively. "I suppose you've heard of this young man.  Fancy him showing up on your doorstep.  And wasn't Alice a bit of a surprise for you?"  This last to Justin.

"Well, yes, I suppose --"

"Might not have been, if you'd kept in touch with poor Mary Lou.  Dear, sweet thing.  I can only imagine her heartbreak."  Verna was a force of nature when provoked to umbrage on behalf of others.   "Still, I suppose that's how you young people do things now.  Flit in and out of one anothers' lives, toying with affections, taking advantage.  Shameful, I say.  And now you've come crawling back."

"Actually, I think he took the bus, Verna," said Alice.  Justin sensed an ally and was warmed after Verna's wilting first assault.

"I took the train up from Calgary," he corrected Alice, and glimpsed a twinkle in her eye that matched his own.  "But the bus got me here from the station.  I just landed back in Canada a week ago.  Troop ship from Liverpool."

Verna sniffed.  "Don't matter to me how you came to be here.  As you've seen, they're gone.  Moved away, they did.  Shame.  They were good neighbours ..."  Verna left a delicate but palpable pause before adding a perfunctory " ... as are you folks, Alice.  But of course, they were here for years."

"So you've said, many times," observed Alice, drily.  "I imagine the young man is looking to find the Houttons.  I suggested that he talk to you, Verna, since you seem to know so much about everything that goes on in this neighbourhood."  She smiled innocently, and Justin marvelled at the surgical precision.  "That one drew blood, and the old bat never even felt it," he thought.

"Won't do you much good," said Verna.  "Poor Mary went off to live in a girl's residence downtown.  I have no idea where.  She may still be there, or perhaps she got married for all I know.  She never wanted for young men, that one.  Moths to a flame."

"I'm sure you'd have been invited to a wedding, wouldn't you, Verna?  You've always said the Houttons were such good friends ... ,"  said Alice, neatly trumping the larger woman in front of her.  Justin saw a flicker of annoyance in Verna's eyes.  Something told him that Alice would pay for this conversation through skilfully placed tidbits of gossip in the years to come.   

For her part, Alice seemed not to care.  "I think the Christian thing to do is help this young man find who he's looking for, don't you?  Wouldn't want to stand in the path of romance."

Verna snorted, but her fight was gone.  "I would have thought the Christian thing to do would have been to write the occasional letter.  Do you know how long that silly girl mooned over you, young man?  She may be mooning still.  I think she's well shed of you, but it's her decision, I suppose."

Verna grudgingly gave him the Houtton's new address - from memory, no less - spun on her heel with a barely polite nod to Alice, and Justin could almost hear the steam engine inside Verna roar to life as she chugged back down the sidewalk, round the hedge, and on her way.

Alice watched her untill she was out of earshot, rolled her eyes, then turned back to Justin and examined him afresh.  "So, you're the dashing young pilot we've all heard so much about, are you?"

"I guess, ma'am.  Kinda felt like dashing when she started in on me."

"Well, you'd best get on the bus before Verna gets home, has a moment to think, and comes barelling back to offer more pieces of her mind.  Honestly.  It's a miracle the woman has any left to give." 

Alice offered Justin a firm handshake and a wink.  "Off you go.  And good luck to you."

As Justin reached the corner, his kit slung on his shoulder, he turned back to look one last time at the street; a quiet, treelined street of immaculately kept older houses, a street where families grew, where people sat on their verandahs on summer evenings and smiled at their neighbours as they walked past and all the women agreed that Monday was the day you hung your clothes on the line and all the men agreed that Saturday was the day you mowed your lawn.

"One day I'm going to live on a street like this," he thought.

Then Verna burst out her front door and Justin turned and stepped quickly to the bus stop.  The bus roared up and he was on board before she'd even reached the corner.

                                                                **********************************

The truth was, Mary had mooned over Justin for a long time and would still think of him from time to time with a real sadness. But life did go on.  There were dances, and days at the beach and a succession of young fellows, some duds, some with promise, but none who could make any real headway against the memory of her "dashing young pilot".

Vera would roll her eyes as Mary dismissed suitor after suitor.  "Oh, for cripes sake, kiddo," she'd say.  "You're not wearing black.  You're not a war widow.  Time to find a new fella.  Maybe one who actually cares enough to write."

Gradually, Mary was coming around to Vera's way of thinking, and yesterday's trip to Sylvan Lake was another step along the path.  A handsome boy from St. Albert, a few miles north of the city, had asked for the phone number at her block, and Mary had obliged.  Ken something.  MacDonald?  McGregor?  Something Scottish.

"Maybe he'll call," thought Mary as she looked out the bus window.  She smiled to herself as she pulled on the signal cord indicating her stop was approaching.  "Oh, come on," she thought, "He'll call.  No maybe about it."

They always called.

Mary got off the bus and walked the two blocks to her parents' new home, a smallish, red brick bungalow that always reminded Mary of a poem about a young woman with extravagant tastes:

Little I want, my needs are few,

All I want is a simple house

(A simple Brownstone house will do) ...

She would often tease her mother about living in their fancy brownstone mansion, now that the kids were gone and they could finally open up the hidden safe filled with all the money they never spent on ponies and summer homes in the Rockies.  Helen and Hugh Henry would be the toast of the town, attending elegant soirees wearing shimmering evening gowns and top hat and tails.  Helen would giggle as Mary Lou would waltz her around the tiny kitchen.

No waltzing today, though, as Mary added her hamper with a week's worth of laundry to the pile in front of the wringer-washer.  She helped Helen take the sheets off the line (skilfully clipped on the line inside each sheet were Helen's "unmentionables".  Helen had once had a neighbour who had actually hung those out in plain view of passersby, including children.  That had been straightened out very quickly.).  The two women chattered away happily, more like sisters than mother and daughter.

Mary cranked as her mother fed the soggy, soapy clothes through the wringer.  Helen was glad of the help, and the company.  She'd missed having her Mary Lou around, but that was what happened, wasn't it?  Birds do finally leave the nest, as God intended.

Her laundry on the line, Mary went inside to wait for it to dry.  With Hugh Henry out for the morning, she took his chair by the window - the light was better for reading.  She opened her book and as always, fell inside it.  Now and again she'd glance up as something outside would catch the corner of her eye - a dog patrolling for cats, two boys on bikes, a pregnant woman pushing a stroller, shushing her squealing child.

She first saw him quite a distance up the block.  She'd looked out, absently noted a young man walking along carrying something on his shoulder, then returned to her reading.  She looked up a few minutes later - the young man was still quite a ways away, but now it was clear that the "something" he was carrying was a soldiers' duffel - anyone could recognize that.  She cast her eyes back to her page, but the words suddenly weren't making any sense. 

It was like reading a Jumble.

She looked up one more time, slowly, knowing exactly who she would see.  Knowing.

How many times had she played this scene out in her imagination?  How many times had she rushed into his arms and into a magical, neverending kiss?  Or stood stolidly, coldly resolute and unforgiving as he grovelled and begged forgiveness?  Or walked boldly up to him and slapped his face?

How many times had she rehearsed what she would say, how she would spit venom at him for the misery he'd inflicted on her; or stand regally silent and force him to explain himself; or collapse into tears ...?

And now, he was here.

Mary pushed herself out of Hugh Henry's chair, stood still for a moment to will her knees to stop shaking, and opened the front door at the same instant that Justin's foot hit the bottom step.

Chapter Ten - A Delivery

June, 1945 - Vancouver, British Columbia

The platform was crowded as Paul stepped off the daycoach car.  In a crush like this, being tall and gangly was an advantage; his eyes swept over the heads of the reuniting families, the couples long separated, the mothers and fathers and sweethearts and wives all searching for their own special returning serviceman.

It was a joyous, raucous scene, filled with couples in embraces, babies and young children hoisted up for inspection, tears of relief and happiness, shouts of recognition, frantic waves as each young man in uniform would emerge from one of the cars.

How his mom and dad had missed him, he didn't know, but Paul could see both of them eagerly waiting near a pillar, eyes darting from car to car as the soldiers and sailors and airmen disembarked.  He slipped easily through the crush and was almost in his mother's arms before she spotted him; she fairly leapt into his arms and cried a mother's tears for the safe return of her boy.  His father waited, shuffling self-consciously, and once Paul broke free of Mom, offered up a man's handshake and a brief, awkward embrace. 

His dad took hold of Paul's duffel.  "If we hurry, we can be the first to the bus," he said.

But Paul was back to looking over the heads in the crowd.  "I have to find someone first."

Finally he spotted her - it was hard, with her being so tiny - near a wagon being loaded with luggage.  He broke away from his parents.  "I'll be just a sec," he promised.

She saw him approaching, and her face lit up in recognition.  She rushed to him and gave him a warm hug.

"Welcome home, fella," she said, but even as she was saying it she was back to searching the crowd.  "Which car is he on?"  Paul would know.  He and Justin were inseparable.

Paul shifted uncomfortably, and reached into his pocket.  "I have something for you," was all he could think to say.  He offered up a small, slightly crumpled envelope.

Eva took it, frowning now, and Paul wondered if it would be more polite to stay while she read the letter, or to get while the getting was good.

Because in about thirty seconds, the getting would not be very good at all.

Chapter Nine: Two Ships

Our story so far: 

Justin and Mary met at a Saturday night dance in Edmonton, Alberta, in August, 1943.  He walked her home and she invited him to dinner Sunday.  After that big family supper, he caught a bus to the train station and  shipped out to England.  Two years (and no letters, postcards, phone calls, or contact of any kind) later, he was shipped back from England, landing at Halifax and boarding a train bound for his home near Vancouver, B.C.  In Calgary, he got off that train and hopped on board another - this one rolling towards Edmonton - and the girl he'd met two years before.  The story begins here, if you just joined us.  Go, catch up.  We'll wait.

                                              *****************************

June, 1945.  Edmonton, Alberta

Justin stepped down onto the platform, his duffel slung over his shoulder. "This is crazy," he thought, as he walked out into the cool of a late spring morning.

He looked up and down Jasper Avenue, searching for landmarks, visual references, anything that would twig his memory and get him started in the right direction.  He'd spent part of his training in Edmonton, but didn't know much of the city beyond the Royal Canadian Air Force base on the north side.

A short walk brought him within sight of the MacDonald Hotel, and he began to quicken his pace.  It was Monday morning and the downtown shops were opening.  He passed by a bookseller, a hardware store, and a bakery (the smell of fresh bread wafting out the open door reminded him of his father's bakery in Kitsilano.  "Dad would be getting ready to open right about now," he thought.  Then: "If I'd stayed on the train, I'd be pulling into the station in Vancouver in about an hour."

Across the street, a boy on a ladder was changing the marquee on a movie theatre.  Beside it was a jewellery store:  People's Credit Jewellers.  Justin didn't think; he stepped off the curb, dodged a milk truck and a car, and made for the front door just as the owner turned the key and flipped the sign to "Open".

                                   **************************************************

Mary Houtton finished making her bed and gathered up the last of her clothes, dumping them in the cloth hamper her mother had made for her. She yawned, still exhausted from the weekend, especially yesterday's trip with her sister Vera and Kay Donald.  They'd set out early Sunday morning on the Calgary Trail in Kay's father's car, and three hours later pulled into the gravel parking lot at Sylvan Lake.

Halfway between Edmonton and Calgary, Sylvan Lake featured a beautiful beach, a boardwalk, crystal clear water (albeit chilly at this time of year), and most importantly of all:  boys.  Scads of boys, everywhere, boys from Calgary and Edmonton, country boys with farmer's tans and city boys with their own cars. 

There were girls, too, of course, but that was more of a concern to Vera and Kay than to Mary, who turned heads wherever she went. 

On this first trip of the year to the beach she had worn her brand-new bathing suit, a yellow flowered one piece with the requisite modesty skirt purchased at the Hudson's Bay Co. store in Edmonton. Repeated checks in the full-length mirror back in the dorm (and assurances from her sister and Kay) gave her confidence that it showed her off to best advantage. 

But it was only with the first of the wolf whistles - moments after setting out their blanket on the beach and dropping their wraps - that Mary felt at ease with how she looked.  Vera often snorted that Mary Lou never had any sense of how pretty she really was.

They'd had a wonderful time, the three of them, lazing in the sun, fending off the fellows, eating ice cream and daring one another to brave the frigid waters of the lake.  Mary was athletic and fearless, and when a handsome young man from Red Deer had plunged into the water and dared her to follow, she dove in and stayed under, only her head above the surface, until he'd dog-paddled shivering for the shore.

Vera and Kay had dropped her off late last night.  Today she had woken up early, ironed her "work dress", and put her face on for the job interview downtown at 10.  When it was done, she decided, she'd jump on a bus and go see Mom and Dad. 

Now that they'd moved to the new place, she didn't get to see them more than once a week.  This would be a nice surprise for her mom, and Mary made a mental note to find a fruit stand and see if they had any fresh strawberries.  It was early in the season, and they would be dear, but if the interview went well she could risk the extravagance.  Strawberries were her mother's favourite.

As she passed the mirror in the hallway of the dorm, she checked her hair one last time.  She pulled her lips back, practicing her smile and checking for lipstick on her teeth.  Nothing.  She set off into her morning, and as her feet hit the sidewalk outside, she felt a lightness.

"This is going to be a good day," she thought.

                     *****************************************************

 Justin hopped off the bus and slung his duffel onto the grass at the side of the road.  He plopped himself down on it, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, and lit up.  He thought once again about what he planned to do.

Thousands of hours behind the stick of twin-seater fighter aircraft had created a young man who mixed caution and boldness in equal measure.  He was fearless, but never reckless; methodical about eliminating risk but willing to accept that no matter how sound the plan, risk would always be there.  He had stayed alive when so many others hadn't because he always seemed to know exactly where that fine line was etched between acceptable risk and foolhardiness.

Now his instincts were muddled.  This wasn't a lame-duck landing approach on a foggy airfield.  That kind of thing didn't scare him one bit.  He'd done that, crashed, and walked away.

If this went badly, there was no escape, no chute, no colourful story in the Officer's Mess.

He stubbed out the cigarette, threw his duffel over his shoulder, and crossed the street.  In front of the big green house, he paused for a moment, gathered himself, and walked briskly up to the front door.

                                     *************************************
The interview had gone well; Mary was sure of it.  She'd been relieved when she was ushered into the office and it was a man behind the desk; she'd been charming and deferential and had impressed him (she thought) with her knowledge of simple book-keeping principles.  He hadn't offered her the job - he had other girls to interview.  But she figured she had a good chance.

As the bus rumbled and bumped towards her parents' house, she considered whether or not to give her notice at her current job. " Best wait till I have this one," she thought.  "A bird in the hand ... ."  Mary was always the sensible one.

                                      ********************************************
Justin was confused.

"Moved ...?" he repeated dumbly.

"Last year," the woman said.  "We moved in last September.  Not sure where they moved to.  The Post Office just took the mail and forwarded it.  But I think they're still in Edmonton somewhere."

"Is there anybody who might know where they are?"

The woman wiped her hands on her apron.  "Let me think," she said.  She looked up at Justin, then over his shoulder.  Her face darkened.  "Well, if anyone will ..."

Justin turned.

A grim-faced Verna Hextall was barrelling up the sidewalk towards them like a tall ship under full sail.

The Wedding Album

... is on the right.  Enjoy.  I did.

So, It Went OK, I Guess ...

Still inundated by family, still being hosts, but since you're curious, yeah, it went just fine ...

She wasn't too terribly homely ...

People said we didn't look all that bad coming down the aisle together ...

And (note the footwear) she was able to maintain her grace and elegance throughout the evening, even when the dance started ...

I will, at some point, get a raft of pictures up and onto an album on the sidebar.  But not today.  Today I am still surrounded by family and friends, there is still beer in the keg, there are still stories to be told, and the celebration continues.  I'll be back when I can ...

This Vehicle Stops For Real Life

While I'm enjoying telling the story of my mom and dad and how they came together, I need to pause for a bit as present day love takes precedence over the past.  To be more specific:

    My daughter is getting married this weekend.

    OK, let me try that again: (ahem) My daughter is getting married this weekend.

    Nope.  Still not registering.  I can say the words, I can write them out, I can sing them, shout them from the rooftop, or tap them out in Morse Code but they still don’t seem to be catching hold in my brain.

My daughter?  Is getting married?  This weekend?

    Even with the different punctuation, it’s more than my brain can handle.

    For one thing, it is physically impossible for me to have a daughter who is old enough to be getting married.  That would make me ... well, old.  And I’m a lot of things, but old?  No way.

    Besides, it is patently ridiculous to suggest that a young girl I can clearly remember having to gently push across the threshold of her nursery school on the first day could be considered of marriageable age.  I mean, we do have laws in this country.

    Okay, she’s not in nursery school any more, obviously, but it was just a few months ago that I dropped her off for her first day of middle school.  She didn’t want to take the bus and I was up early in the morning anyway, so what the hell.  As I dropped her off, I expected her to leap out of the still-rolling car to avoid the humiliation of actually being seen with her father because “ ... Omigod he is sooooo embarrassing!”

    Instead, she leaned over and gave me a kiss.  Right there, in the car, in front of all her friends.  And it occurs to me even as I write this that never once has she ever bailed out of giving me a kiss goodbye, no matter what she was doing or how many cool friends were around, waiting to tease her.  There’s incontrovertible evidence that she’s a little girl, right there.

    The point I am making is,  these memories are far too clear for them to be more than a quarter of a century old.  They must be far more recent.  Ergo, I couldn't possibly have a daughter getting married this weekend.  Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. 

    I will now go and weep the bitter tears of a father for whom everything is happening just a bit too quickly.

    When she was a baby, I thought we'd never get that damn kid out of diapers.  Then she was barely walking when all of a sudden whoooosh it was her first day of kindergarten.  But elementary school dragged on and on until I realized she'd somehow made it into junior high when I wasn't looking.

    It was only a week or so later that I was helping her pick her high school electives - and then of course she had to decide what her major was going to be in University and  that was only a month ago.  So don't even try to tell me she's getting married.  Not buyin'.

Maybe it's just a dream.  That's it.  I'll wake up and she'll be bringing in a handful of dandelions to put in a vase for Mom.  Or she'll be rushing out the front door to find the bird that hit the picture window, and making a little nest in a Kleenex box and bringing the damn thing in to me and asking me to make it better. 

Or maybe I'll wake up to find her climbing that stupid tree that I've told her to stay out of a million times, then calling me outside to see how high she's gotten and making my knees go weak when I look up at her.

Well ... I can still look up at her, but now she's standing right beside me.  And my knees still go weak, but ... well, she's always had that effect on me anyway. 

And this weekend, unless someone fixes the tear in the Space/Time Continuum, she’ll take me by the arm and support me as I walk her down the aisle because I know my knees will be too weak for that.

I need to go and lay down, close my eyes, get some perspective on all this.  But now I'm afraid to do that. 

I mean, you can see why. 

Look what happened the last time I closed my eyes for a bit.

                     *****************************************************************

So, I promise to come back to the story.  I'm just not sure whether I'll be able to do much this weekend.  You'll be the first to know.

Chapter 8 - An Ocean Away

October 7, 1943 - Edmonton,  Alberta, Canada

"You can write it all you want, Pollyanna, but Mom still won't let you post it," said Vera.  She mimicked their mother perfectly:  "Girls don't call on boys, boys call on girls.  You write when you are written to.  We do not chase boys.  We conduct ourselves with dignity and grace."

Mary crumpled the note paper and sighed.  "I know.  I wouldn't know what to say, anyway, without looking like a dope.  I mean, if he'd wanted me to write him, surely he'd have written me by now ...?"

"Some boys just don't write letters, and sometimes when they go over there they ... can't.," said Vera with a shrug.  "But I wouldn't waste another moment's thought on him.  There are too many fish in the sea ..."

" ... and you can call me Annette," grinned Mary, finishing the joke.  "There's a poster up for a dance Friday night.  I'm game ..."

"... she said, so the hunter shot her," said Vera with a giggle.  "Friday night it is.  Wear your new sweater.  We'll be the ees-bays ees-nays.  Take that, Justin the Ding-a-Ling, wherever you may be!"

Mary grinned, happy with the plans, finally forgetting all about Justin, banishing him from her thoughts completely.  Except, of course, for the constant wishing that he would write her.

                                                        ********************************

October 7, 1943 - R.A.F. Flight Training School, near Wrexham, Wales

"You reading that thing again?" Paul Steen snatched the flimsy  blue airmail letter out of Justin's hand and his voice slid into falsetto as he pretended to read: "Dear Jussy-Wussy,  Oh, how I miss you, my dearest, darlingest, sweetie-pie.  I miss you ten million kissie-wissies.  Please give my regards to your handsome friend Paulie-Wolly and tell him I can't wait to see him again -- "

Justin clipped Paul across the back of the head and grabbed the letter back as his best friend roared with laughter.  "You're such a gone goose, Ling.  Stop mooning over your lovey dovey letters and come on into town with us tonight.  There's some sort of show at the Music Hall.  Maybe we'll find us a little Welsh rabbit or two."

"You guys go on ahead.  I might catch up."

"Oh, fer chrissakes, just throw it on the pile in your damn footlocker.  It'll be there when you get back.  Come out and have some fun."

"Alright, alright,"  Justin opened the lid of his footlocker and placed the carefully-refolded letter on top of all the others.

"A lot of letters ..." he thought, as he regarded the pile.  He checked his tie in the mirror on the post near his bunk, straightening it before he  grabbed his cap.

As he headed for the door, he couldn't escape the rest of the thought: " ... and none of them from her."

                                                            ****************

October, 1944 - Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

"Ling?  Yeah.  Jus Ling.  I remember him.  Wasn't he Steen's buddy ...?"  The airman, freshly returned from England, was having a smoke outside the dance hall at the end of the evening.  This last was directed to his pal, who was hungrily eyeing Mary up and down.

"Steen?  Yeah, there was Steen and Walker and Ling and a couple of Brits, all hung around together," said the buddy, and added,    "Didn't have much to do with the rest of us.  Always out looking for girls."  Even if it wasn't true, it could be, and a fella could be forgiven for trying to get any advantage he could muster with this one.  She was a looker, for sure.

Mary thanked the young men, neatly deflecting their innocent (or perhaps not-so-innocent) advances, and rejoined her sisters.  Edna read the look on her face.

"They knew him," she said, and Mary nodded.  She was damned if she would cry over this, but ... it made her feel empty to know she'd been just cast aside.

"Well, that's that, then.  No more mooning over him," said Vera.  "He'll live to rue the day he turned his back on Mary Lou Houtton!" 

The three girls linked arms as they walked home from the dance hall, singing in decidely imperfect harmony.  They sang "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree With Anybody Else But Me", and "I'll Be Seeing You" and  the latest song on the radio, "You Always Hurt The One You Love"

    You always hurt the one you love
    The one you shouldn't hurt at all
    You always take the sweetest rose
    And crush it till the petals fall
    You always break the kindest heart
    With a hasty word you can't recall -
    So If I broke your heart last night,
    it's because I love you most of all ...

After a while, Vera and Edna noticed they were reduced to singing two part harmony, and they stopped.  The girls walked on in silence.

                                         ********************************

May, 1945 - Marshalling Area, Liverpool Waterfront

"If it doesn't fit in your duffel, it stays here, boys," barked the ship's Executive Officer. 

The weary pilots and aircrew sat gathered in clumps on the pier, waiting for orders to embark.  "You board the ship, officers to the right, enlisted men to the left, find a bunk, make as much space for yourself as you can, and please, gentlemen, we all hope you have a lovely voyage, but stay the fuck out of our way.  We're working men, not dainty little flyboys."

Catcalls and fart sounds followed the XO as he smirked across the yard to the gangplank and boarded the vessel.  A whistle blew and the Canadians began streaming onto the ship.  Paul and Justin stuck together, found a couple of cramped bunks, stowed their gear under the bottom one and set about exploring the ship.

"Ten days or so across, then maybe six days on a train, and we're home," said Paul.  "Home from the war, we'll be heroes!  What are you going to do first thing, when we get home?"

"I dunno.  Spend some time with my folks, I guess," said Justin.  "My kid sister will be sixteen - maybe I'll take her out somewhere."

"That's it?  Aren't you forgetting somebody?"  Paul said.  "Jussy-wussy's getting homey-womey ..."

"Oh, sure, yeah.  No I didn't forget her.  I thought you meant after I saw her.  Sure, she'd be first."

Paul looked carefully at his best friend.  Justin avoided eye contact.

"What?  I just didn't mention her, was all it was.  Let's go see if they have a kitchen on this scow."

                                                      *************************************************

June, 1945 - Calgary, Alberta, Canada

"Forty minutes, boys.  Forty minutes and the train pulls out.  Don't wander too far away." 

The conductor would be glad to see the end of these cross-country runs, offloading soldiers and sailors and airmen in their home towns.  Military discipline didn't have too strong a hold over these boys now that they'd been demobilized.  He was more than a little tired of cleaning up vomit, breaking up fights, and shushing drunken soldiers when other passengers were trying to sleep.

"What are you gonna do?" asked Paul.

"I don't know.  What would you do?"

"A promise is a promise."

"I guess so.  So, I should just ... go home?"

"You asked me."

"That would be the right thing to do."

Paul nodded.  "Yep."

"The smart thing, too."

"Definitely."

"I mean, for all I know, she's already married."

"For all you know, she's dead."

"Don't say that."

"She's probably not.  But you haven't written to her or heard from her in two years.  For all you know, she could be."

"She's probably married.  Girls like that, the guys are all around them."

"Maybe she has kids."

"She doesn't have kids."

"How do you know?"

"I just know.  Anyway, it'd be dumb to go.  I should just go home."

"That's the smart thing to do."

"I've known her - what, nine, ten hours?"

"If that."

"Compared to ..."

"... years."

"So, no comparison."

"None at all."

"So a smart man would just stay on this train."

"That he would."

"So ..."

Paul grinned.  "So, call when you finally do get back to Vancouver."

"Is this crazy?  This is crazy, isn't it?"

"Definitely."