The Homecoming (23 page)
Essentially, this general wanted to take Simmons’s cash cow away, the goose who’d been laying all his golden eggs. There was the buzzer again. He picked up the phone.
“Colonel, General Hardaway is on the line . . .
again
. Sir, he’s calling from London. You don’t take it this time, I can’t be responsible for what he might do.”
“All right, Abigail, put him through.”
“Hello, Simmons?”
“Yes, sir. Am I speaking to General Hardaway?”
“You are. About time you took my call.”
“Sorry, sir. It’s been extremely busy around here.”
“Sorry to hear it. Neck deep in a war over here.”
Jab noted, thought Simmons. “What’s on your mind, General?”
“Need you to send me a certain major you’ve got dancing in your little shows.”
Simmons hated this. Little shows. “Who are we talking about, sir?” As if he didn’t know.
“You know . . . Major Collins.”
“Major Shawn Collins? He’s not a dancer, General. He’s the lynchpin of our War Bond rallies. Just finishing up his first four-month tour. Racked up the highest revenues we’ve seen since we started this. I don’t think I can part with him, sir.”
“You don’t think? You don’t have a choice, Colonel.”
“I beg to differ, sir. You may outrank me, but you know the importance Washington places on these rallies. They won’t want to mess with a good thing. I’m in the planning stages of a second tour for him on the West Coast.”
“Well, I’m in the planning stages of a massive invasion of northern France. Maybe you heard about that. I got hundreds of fighters and bombers taking off every day laying the groundwork for it. And I just lost three of my best planners in a plane crash. I been asking around, and your major’s name keeps coming up. They say he’s a natural. I need him over here pronto. Talk to whoever you want, they’re gonna back me on this.”
“General, we don’t keep the money flowing in, and you won’t have any bombers to fly or fuel to fly ’em.”
“Look,” the general said, “I’m not trying to ruin your little operation. I know you need heroes to get the crowds going. I’m about to give you two for the price of one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got two fighter pilots who need a rest—both high-scoring aces, fly those new Mustang fighter planes. Real storytellers, both of ’em. One’s from Texas, the other California. They’ll fit right in with your plans out West.”
Simmons liked the sound of this. “When would all this happen?”
“I could have them there by the end of the week. I’ve talked to both of ’em. They’re all fired up about the assignment, especially when I told them about all those beautiful girls.” “Girls we’ve got plenty of,” said Simmons.
“So we got a deal?”
“I think so, General. I’ll get word to Major Collins today to start packing for England. Can I give him a couple of weeks leave before he heads out? Hasn’t had any leave since he started.”
“I don’t have a couple of weeks. Give ’em one, then tell him to get over here. My aide will call you later today with all the details.”
As he hung up the phone, Simmons’s mind was already coming up with a plan. Two Mustang fighter aces. This had definite possibilities.
Katherine walked slowly along a shady lane on her way to the playground next to Patrick’s school. It was a fine Saturday afternoon. Patrick had already run on ahead, as soon as he saw the swing set and slide. Spring was in full bloom. The overcoats had taken their rightful place in the back of the closet, the boots were in the basement. Outside the leaves had returned to the trees. You could actually see a blue sky at midday, and the sun occasionally peeked out from behind the clouds.
Katherine walked slowly because Mrs. Fortini—the woman who’d become her closest friend and the closest thing to a mother she had ever known—had asked to go with her today. It was nice they could finally leave Mr. Collins home unattended.
Since his cast had come off last month, he had become increasingly independent. He still slept downstairs in a bed tucked in a living room corner and only used the downstairs bathroom,
his
bathroom, it came to be called. Robert, his orderly, was almost a family member now. Katherine noticed how he scheduled his home visits increasingly near the dinner hour. He was obviously sweet on Katherine, which made things awkward at times. But he seemed harmless and was always respectful.
“How’s that bench over there?” Katherine asked, pointing to one just off the sidewalk but still on the pavement. “We can see Patrick playing but we’re far away enough not to hear all the noise.”
“Looks fine, dear.” She let out a groan as she sat down. “You seem a little sad. Is anything wrong?”
“Do I? I’m okay, just a little discouraged. I really shouldn’t be.”
“What about?” asked Mrs. Fortini. Katherine looked down. “The thing you’re always discouraged about?”
Katherine nodded. “Let’s don’t talk about it.” The last three months had been trying. The last time she had seen Shawn was the dance downtown. But he had danced with her. More than that . . . he had rescued her from Lieutenant Winston. And then he’d said she looked attractive in her dress. She knew she was reading way too much into it, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
“He still hasn’t written or called?” asked Mrs. Fortini.
“Just about Patrick or his father. And he’s back to calling me Miss Townsend again. Meanwhile, his friend Captain Albert Baker writes me almost every week from England.”
“Do you write him back?”
“Only occasionally, and I never include anything that might lead him on.”
Mrs. Fortini shook her head in a gentle scold. “Are you interested in him?”
“He’s very nice. He’s got a good sense of humor. He’s very persistent.”
“But do you like him . . .
that
way?”
“He’s not the one I think about when I’m thinking
that
way.”
“Then Katherine, writing back at all might be too much encouragement for a man pursuing you like that.”
“I know, but I just don’t know how to be rude.”
Mrs. Fortini looked at her and smiled. She knew exactly what Katherine was struggling with. “Katherine, I think you just have to be patient. Elizabeth died only five months ago.”
“I know, I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know what I’m expecting. I’m just afraid something will happen and Shawn and Patrick will be out of my life for good. His last War Bond rally was last night. My four months are up. What if he comes back and says, ‘Thanks for watching Patrick while I’ve been gone, here’s your final paycheck’?” She looked over at Patrick on the slide. He waved and she waved back.
Mrs. Fortini put her arm on Katherine’s shoulder. “Katherine, I’ve been trying to help you see what it means to trust God for your life. Life is full of uncertainties and things we can’t control. Worrying about things you can’t change only changes you. It eats you up inside.” She gently pointed to a spot on Katherine’s forehead. “And it gives you wrinkles.”
“I know,” she said. “Pastor Harman has been talking about the same thing at church. I just can’t seem to let go.”
“Trusting God is a decision, not a feeling.”
“I just wish I knew whether something will ever happen between us. I know it can’t be soon, I just wish I knew if it could be. If I knew, I think I could trust God . . . while I wait.”
“I think you might have it backwards,” said Mrs. Fortini. “First you trust, then adjust.”
“What? I don’t know what that means.”
“Put your trust in God’s wisdom, in his love for you, then adjust yourself to whatever he decides is best. That’s what I do, and for an old person, I sleep pretty well.”
Katherine sighed. It was as if these wise words hung in the air momentarily, then drifted out of reach. They sat in silence a few moments. Katherine kept her eyes on Patrick. What would she do if he was suddenly taken from her? It could happen. In a matter of days.
“Katherine.”
She looked up.
“Look down there, do you see that?”
Katherine looked where Mrs. Fortini was pointing, off to the left in front of them. “What am I looking for?”
“Do you see that flower, right there?”
Katherine looked down again and saw a little buttercup poking up through a crack in the sidewalk, surrounded by the smallest dab of green. It looked so fragile and out of place. “Do you see?” Mrs. Fortini said. “God can make love grow through even the hardest places. Just give him time.”
“You think there’s even a chance?” Katherine asked.
Mrs. Fortini simply smiled and pointed back at the flower.
Shawn couldn’t believe it. London.
They were shipping him off just like that. A quick thanks, then off you go. After all he’d done. He knew the War Bond tour was ending. Lieutenant Winston had already talked about another one on the West Coast. Shawn had begun to think through a way to get out of it. One phone call later and everything had changed. Now he had a week, then he was flying back to England.
After getting the news, Shawn had made some calls overseas. Somehow he’d gotten reassigned to some top general’s planning staff. They were suddenly critically short on personnel and needed help planning a new surge of bombing missions to support the big invasion of France. Very top secret. They were calling it D-Day. Sounded like it was just around the corner.
As Shawn drove home from the 30th Street train station in Philly, twilight was just giving way to complete darkness. He had called his father after the train got in and was glad to hear they’d be alone when Shawn arrived. The others were enjoying Saturday night dinner at Mrs. Fortini’s next door. He pulled into the neighborhood on his father’s end of the street, turned off his lights, and parked two houses down to avoid sounding any alarm bells. He quietly walked up to the house and let himself in.
“Shawn,” his father yelled from his bed in the living room.
“Hi, Dad,” he said, then put his finger to his lips, signaling him to lower his voice.
The elder Collins got up, grabbed his cane, and turned off the radio. “What’s the secrecy about?”
“They’ll find out everything in a little bit, but I wanted to talk to you first.” Shawn was shocked at how thin his dad looked. His eyes were bright and he was smiling, but he looked so much older.
His dad hobbled over and gave him a big hug. “Where’s your bags?”
“Still in the car. I’ll get them in a few minutes.” Shawn sat on the sofa, his dad in his favorite chair.
“You said you wanted to talk about your new assignment? Can I get you something to drink? Got some cold soda pops in the fridge.”
“No, you stay put. I’ll get one.” Shawn did, then sat back down. He noticed a pile of wood shavings scattered on the floor between the chair and sofa, his dad’s old leather pouch on the coffee table.
“Miss Townsend didn’t get a chance to clean that up yet. Me and Patrick were carving up a storm just before he went next door for supper. He’s doing real well with it, hasn’t got a scratch.”
Shawn smiled. “He’s learning from the best.” He was glad Patrick had gotten this kind of time in with his dad. “Look, Dad, I’ve got some big news. But not
good
big news like the last time. They’re shipping me back to England in a week.”
“What?”
“I know it’s sudden. But I won’t be in any danger this time. Not flying any more missions. For some reason they think they need my help on the planning staff. You probably heard rumblings on the news about an upcoming invasion of France.” His dad nodded. “This has something to do with that.”
“Isn’t Hitler still bombing London?”
“Not for almost two months now,” Shawn said. “The guys I talked to think they’ve pretty much crushed the Luftwaffe. So there really isn’t any danger anymore. Which is why I want to ask your advice on something.”
His father sat forward in his chair.
“I’d like to bring Patrick over there with me, just for the summer. I already talked with his teacher on the phone. She said he’s only got one more week of school. His grades are top-notch, so she’d be willing to let him out early.”
“He is doing real good at school,” his father said.
“But if he came with me, I’d need to bring Miss Townsend along to look after him. I know she does a lot around here. I’d hire someone else to come in while we’re gone.”
“Shawn, I can look after myself.”
“Dad, we have a bed in the living room. You haven’t been upstairs in almost four months. You’re walking with a cane. You need some help.”
“Mrs. Fortini will look after me. She’s the one trained Miss Townsend to do everything. You go on and do what you got to do. I’ll be all right.”
It was odd hearing his dad speak so highly of Mrs. Fortini, even willing to become dependent on her. “So you’re okay with this?”
“I’m gonna miss Patrick something awful. But I can’t imagine what it would do to him, you go back to England without him. You’ve got your duty. The country needs you. My place is here. I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. But . . . what about the Medal of Honor? I thought FDR was gonna put that on you at the White House.”
“They haven’t even mentioned the medal, and I forgot all about it.” Shawn got up and paced between the sofa and the front door. He had something else to say.
“What’s the matter?” his father asked.
“There’s one last thing I need to talk to you about. Something we’ve known about since you fell down the stairs. The doctor told us to keep it from you, thought if you knew it might make things worse. But I think it would be worse if I leave you here next week and you don’t know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s your heart, Dad. It’s . . . not in good shape.”
“That supposed to be a secret?”
“I’m being serious, Dad. The doctor said it’s probably on its way out. He said if you didn’t take it easy, really take it easy, your heart could snap. With your leg busted, you couldn’t do very much, so we didn’t tell you. But I’m concerned with you getting better, you’re going to overdo it while I’m gone.”
His dad stood up. He walked over and put one arm on Shawn’s shoulder, the other steadying his cane. “Son, a man knows when his life’s ebbing away. You feel it inside. Why do you think I fell off those stairs in the first place? I didn’t trip. I could barely get halfway up. I’m not sure I can get back up there again if I wanted to.”
