In all his letters, Red had never made any promises to her about the future. What if he’d met some Italian beauty off in that foreign world? From what she’d read in letters from other soldiers, a man could get mighty lonely, mighty desperate in the midst of war.
She carefully unfolded the letter written nearly six weeks ago. It was two pages of awkward words that had gripped her heart and convinced her for sure that she loved him and he was the only one for her.
Bertie, you keep asking me if I’ve gotten a chance to see Italy. I’ve seen more of this place than I’ve ever wanted to see of any country, anywhere, anytime. I’ve seen whole orchards battered to kindling wood. I’ve seen people living in bombed buildings, starving, begging us for food.
I see your face every time I close my eyes, and can almost hear your voice every time I pull your picture out of my pocket.
Funny, ain’t it? I always thought of all Italians as dark haired, dark eyed. That’s not true. Some are as blond as you are, with skin like yours. I’ve been into some towns a few times, and I can’t tell you how often I thought I’d seen you in the crowd on the street, and I’d run toward you and call your name, and when I got there, I’d find a stranger watching me like they thought I was about to shoot them.
She looked up from the words, as the warmth of them flowed through her. Instead of the California highway, she saw the lines of Red’s smiling face—he was most always smiling or laughing at something—never at someone else, most times at himself.
She wanted to cry over his loneliness for her. And yet she felt reassured. A woman couldn’t read such heartfelt words and doubt a man’s love for her.
Straightening the fold in the page, she read on.
These people aren’t the enemy. They were dumb, maybe, and weak when they should have been strong, but how can I say what I’d have done in their place? They’re defeated now, you can see it in their eyes, and especially in their land.
There’s times I can hear your laughter or your voice in the middle of the night when the shells are whizzing through the sky, and that voice keeps me from going plumb out of my mind.
Bertie, if I get home alive, it’s because of you. I feel like I have somebody waiting for me. I feel like I have a future. So many of my buddies’ve gotten their Dear John letters—their women didn’t want to wait around. All this time, I keep on getting letters from you. I never expected different, but I want you to know something. If I don’t make it home, it’s not because you didn’t pray hard enough, it’s because the evil caught up with us, after all, and the old devil won a battle. Like you keep reminding me, he won’t win the real war.
You take care out there in California. You never know what could happen in a place like that, so close to the ocean. The enemy can reach you better there than he can in Missouri. Don’t let that happen.
If anything happens to me, I want you to be happy. Marry somebody you know I’d approve of, settle and have that passel of kids you’ve always wanted. And know that there was one soldier who went to his reward fighting for the best gal in the best country in the world.
I kinda like you.
Your Red
She folded the page and slid it back into her purse, and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. No promises, for sure, but he never “kinda liked” anybody else. He’d always been good at understatement. But she knew Red Meyer better than most anyone except his mother. He never made a promise until he knew for sure he’d be able to keep it. And then he kept it.
Just because he hadn’t written in the past few weeks didn’t mean he’d forgotten about her.
This letter was filled with his affection for her, his abiding friendship. She’d read love letters received by her friends at work that didn’t show as much love as this letter did.
Could the man who’d placed his life in her hands stop writing because he’d met another woman he liked better?
She knew things were different now, and she couldn’t help worrying about how lonely a man could get. But Red wasn’t the type to lead one woman on with letters while courtin’ another. It wasn’t his nature. He was constant, steadfast, not a ladies’ man at all. He was a man any lady would be proud to marry, who would put a lot of joy and laughter into her life—as he had always done in Bertie’s.
She couldn’t help smiling when she remembered how Red had changed after he’d first asked her out on a bona fide date more than three years ago. Always before, he’d seemed as comfortable with her as he was with his old bluetick hunting dog. Then, suddenly, when he came to pick her up with the horse and buggy for a drive down to the lake, or when he and Ivan double-dated with her and Dixie Martin, John’s sister, and went to the cinema in Hollister in John’s tan Pontiac, Red got all tongue-tied. He didn’t know how to talk to Bertie.
He opened doors for her, paid for her meals and movie, treated her like she was someone special, but he stumbled over his words and his face flushed more easily.
His awkwardness touched her. She felt honored that he thought that much of her.
“We’re here,” Connie said, interrupting Bertie’s thoughts. “You want me to walk back to the department with you in case Franklin decides to strangle you?” She grinned. “That way I can administer first aid quicker.”
“I can handle him,” Bertie assured the nurse.
She wasn’t so sure of herself once Connie left, but if Red could depend on thoughts of her to get him through the horrors of the battles he’d fought, she could keep him in her heart as she tried to deal with Franklin.
Red took the reins from his mother and guided Seymour toward the road that followed the course of the White River back to Hideaway. It would be a long ride.
“Let’s check on Joseph on our way home,” Lilly said.
Red looked at his ma. “He sick or something?”
“Nope, I’m worried about him, is all. I didn’t see him outside anywhere on my way here, and Erma Lee Jarvis called out to me from the garden as I passed their house. Joseph didn’t answer Bertie’s calls last night.”
“Calls?”
“Four times, according to Erma Lee.”
“He never misses her calls.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Something could be up.”
Red flicked the reins to urge Seymour forward at a quicker walk. “Why didn’t the Jarvises check on him last night?”
“You know how tetchy Joseph can be when a body tries to coddle him. Besides, he gets tired of the neighbors always listening in on his calls with Bertie. He can be sharp at times, you know.”
Red nodded. Yep, Joseph could be that. Bertie called him grumpy, but she knew better. Joseph tried hard to be a tough ol’ farmer, but he was a man with a soft spot for those he was closest to.
Red remembered when one of Joseph’s prize milk cows took out after Bertie for petting her new calf. That poor ol’ cow got sold so fast, she never saw it coming.
“It’ll be good to see Joseph again.” Red cast his mother a quick glance. She looked worried. “He been around in the past day or two?”
“I saw him at church. He was lookin’ forward to his daughter’s call.” She shook her head. “That’s another reason it’s so strange he never answered. Hope he’s not had any more trouble with cattle rustling.”
Red flicked the reins again, and Seymour broke into a trot. Red tried not to worry, but worry seemed to’ve become a part of him since going off to war.
Joseph had always seemed partial to Red, and taught him a lot about being the man of the house, looking