An Unexpected Letter

All of my writing is fiction, and the stories and characters are products of my imagination. They were created for my fun and, hopefully, your enjoyment. Some of the events in the stories are not particularly condoned nor encouraged by the author but are there to create and enhance the story of the imaginary characters and their lives. Comments are always encouraged and carefully reviewed. All characters within the story that need to be are 18 years of age or older. I hope you enjoy! And take a second to vote and comment.

Author's Note: This story was particularly enjoyable to write as I experienced and remember some of them. I went to the grocery with my mother and watched her use ration stamps. I listened to H. V. Kaltenborn in the evenings, and I distinctly remember and can still picture the boy coming along the sidewalk with newspapers and yelling, "Extra, extra." My father was an Air Raid Warden and I still have his hat and other things from that duty, as well as books of ration stamps and many newspapers from that time.

~~~

March, 1942

"Paige, honey, I'm glad you've decided to move back. We'll be able to do lots of things together."

I had wondered lately if my mother had forgotten what losing a husband was like. She'd lost Eddie almost nine years ago after seventeen years of marriage. I had only two with Ryan before the accident. Well, it wasn't a normal accident, and it wasn't the war, as so many people thought. He'd complained in the morning about a pain in his stomach, then left to help his father on the farm. He'd been off by himself when his appendix burst. He couldn't get himself back from the field, and he died the next day. I didn't even get to say goodbye.

"You're right, Mom, we can. I may need, you know, some time away from things."

"Of course, Paige. I remember doing that myself."

"Mom, how did you get to where you are now after... "

"After your father died?"

"Yes."

"How long has it been for you, Paige?"

"Two weeks. Two horrible and tear-drenched weeks."

"And for me?"

"Eight years, I think."

"Almost nine."

"I don't know. That seems like forever without Ryan."

"How old were you when your father died?"

"I guess I was fourteen."

"And you cried a lot, then."

"I can see where you're going, Mom, but I don't know."

"You're twenty-three, Paige. There may be another man out there for you."

"Oh, Mother, no one can ever replace Ryan. You've never found another man."

"That doesn't mean that I won't. And no one can

replace

Ryan. But that doesn't mean there's no one you can love and share your life with."

"Oh my gosh, I can't even think about that. And with this stupid war, there probably won't be any young men around when it's ended.

"Of course you can't think about it now. It's way too soon. But you know, everything has a purpose that shows itself in due time."

What could be a purpose in Ryan's death? It was something I couldn't even consider.

"Thank you for letting me move in with you, Mom." I needed to deflect this line of thinking. We'd had a small apartment, and without Ryan's income, there was no way I could keep it. There'd been no insurance or anything; we'd been barely able to afford the rent and food and hadn't considered having children.

"I wouldn't be much of a mother if I didn't let you move back in. Hopefully, we can be company for each other."

I smiled and nodded, but I wasn't sure I wanted much company. A widow at twenty-three. It was unheard of. At least it had been until this stupid war. I still had a mind full of dreams I needed to clear, which would be a painful process. I wondered if Mother was serious when she said there might be a man out there for her. I suspected she'd just said it for my benefit. And, there was the daily miserable news.

I was staring morosely at the bare wall of my room when Mother called me to dinner. She'd fixed some hamburger, and we shared a potato as well as some green beans Mother had canned last summer. It was only March, and it would be a while before our large garden began producing more vegetables that could be both eaten and canned. We'd heard rumors that rationing would be starting soon, and we had no idea what might be involved with that.

The radio was on, and, of course, the depressing war news was echoing around the dining room. Hitler seemed to be taking over all of Europe one country at a time while America was building up its war material as quickly as possible. Japan was doing the same in the Pacific, and we were struggling to hang on. And I was struggling to understand what all of this meant. I didn't want to be a German or a Nazi or whatever. I was having enough trouble trying to keep from crying about Ryan. My life was a horrible mess.

July 1942

Rationing had begun, and Mom and I were learning how to deal with it. So far, it was only sugar, but we were certain that more things would be added soon. Our garden was doing well, and we'd soon be getting started canning. I missed Ryan horribly but was beginning to live a somewhat normal life, although the war made life anything but normal.

I'd spent the morning weeding in the garden while Mom had just gotten home from work, where she was filling in at Morgan's Market. Mr. Morgan's two sons, who'd helped run the market, had enlisted and were in training, almost ready to head overseas. And we could certainly use the money.

"Paige, someone wants you on the telephone."

I headed inside, happy to have a break from the garden. I figured it was one of my friends who'd done a wonderful job of keeping me occupied.

"Hello."

"Hi, Paige. This is Troy. How are you doing?"

"Hello, Troy. I've been working in the garden."

He chuckled. "That's a good thing to be doing, but I wonder

how

you're doing."

"Oh, sorry. Pretty well, I guess."

"That's good. I haven't bothered you for a while. I figured your girlfriends were taking good care of you.

I was just as happy that Troy hadn't bothered me for a while, and I wondered why he was bothering me today.

"They have, Troy. They've been more than I could have hoped for."

"How's your garden doing? It's great to have a garden these days. My dad says that everything will be rationed before long."

"It's doing really well, and that makes it a lot of work. And Mom agrees with your dad."

"Whaddya think about the war?"

"I don't understand it very well, but it sounds like the Germans are going to have all of Russia before long. And it sounds like we may be making a little progress against the Japs."

"Sounds about right. Listen, I have something I need to do. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Troy."

I got a drink of water, went to the bathroom, and started back to the garden.

"Honey, what did Troy want?"

"Nothing special. He just asked what I was doing."

"He's been after you for five or six years."

"I hope that ended with Ryan."

Mother just smiled, and that bothered me.

I went back to the garden and was on my knees, weeding the beans. It was hot.

"Hey, Paige."

I started. "Troy, what are you doing here?"

"I just thought I'd stop by and help you with the garden."

I signed. "Troy, I don't know what to say. I'm not interested in a guy right now."

"Yeah, particularly me," he said, laughing. "I just wanted to spend a little time with you before I enlisted."

I was totally surprised. "You're going to enlist?"

"Why not? They need people, and I'm not doing anything particularly useful. Plus, I'll get to see the world, something I'd never get a chance to do otherwise."

"But." I hesitated, hating to remind him that he could be killed while he was seeing the world. "Isn't that awfully dangerous, Troy?"

"Depends on where you are and what you're doing."

"What will you be doing?"

"I have no idea, Paige. The war might end before I get through my training."

"We listen to the news every night, and I don't think either war is going to end anytime soon."

"Yeah, probably not. I wonder which place I'll go."

"Where would you rather go?"

"I don't know much about what's happening in the Pacific, so I guess I'd rather go fight the Germans."

"They call them Krauts on the news."

"I'll probably be doing that pretty soon, too. Calling them all kinds of names and shooting at them."

"When are you going to enlist, Troy?"

"Tomorrow, I guess. Can you give me a good luck hug before I go?"

I hugged him and actually prayed silently that he'd come back safely and all in one piece. He'd been a pain for several years of my life, but I didn't want him killed.

"If I write you a letter from wherever I am, do you think you could write back? I don't have anyone else to write, and I think it would be nice to get some different letters when I'm so far away."

"What about your mother?" I'd met her before, and she seemed like a pleasant person. I couldn't imagine that she wouldn't write to Troy.

"Oh, yeah, she'll write, but she's family, you know. It's more fun to get stuff from other people."

"Oh, okay. I'll do my best, Troy." I knew I'd write back when he sent me a letter, but I also figured he'd tell his buddies that he was getting letters from his girlfriend. After hugging him, I felt guilty about being so negative. I did hope that he'd be safe, though.

I saw Troy two days later, and he told me he'd enlisted and was scheduled for his physical the next day. The day after that, he'd be off for eight weeks of basic training. It seemed to me to be happening so fast, but the way the war was going, it needed to go fast.

I'd also made the decision to go to work. Both of the factories in town had switched to defense work, and I could certainly use the money. They'd put signs up all over town centered on getting as many women as possible to work since there was a shortage of men. I had taken small steps to escape the morose feelings that had enveloped me since Ryan's death. I hoped that working around other people would help me continue the process of getting back to normal, whatever that might be.

September 1942

I was enjoying working even though it left me exhausted by the end of the day. I hoped that what I was doing was helping us win the war, even though it didn't sound very promising yet. It still sounded like the Nazis were about to take over all of Russia, and the Japs were doing the same in the Pacific. Now that I had a little money, I liked to go to the movies, and there was always a newsreel included, and most of it was about the war. I had two high school friends who'd come home wounded, and while they didn't talk much, they did say that the real war wasn't like the newsreels we were seeing.

Rationing had started with sugar, then progressed to many other things. Gasoline being rationed didn't bother us since we didn't have a car, but shoes were more serious since we walked everywhere. And, even if you had a car and gasoline, you could only drive thirty-five miles per hour. That was if you could get tires for the car. Since all of our rubber came from areas now controlled by Japan, there was a huge shortage.

I'd gotten two letters from Troy telling me about his training and how tired he was all of the time. He said he'd learned to use the M1 rifle and was pretty good at it. He'd learned other things he couldn't tell me about. I told him about the factory and the work I was doing there and how rationing was going. Two of his friends had gotten married before they enlisted -- I worked with the wives, and the thought that they could soon be widows themselves brought back a few pangs of loneliness. But I'd heard that loneliness was simply a lack of purpose, and my purpose was working hard at the factory to help us win the war.

I'd replied to Troy's last letter even though he said his next one would be from Africa, where he was sure he'd be going. He wasn't sure he'd be able to send letters from there, but he would try since he enjoyed my letters. I found it fascinating to try to put myself where he was, using his descriptions to do it. Africa would be a lot different.

November 1942

Thanksgiving day was still a couple of weeks away, and I was already dreading it. With everything rationed, being continuously exhausted, and listening to the war news, it was difficult to be thankful. I'd received a letter from Troy, who could only tell me that he was in Africa, it was hot, and he hated the sand. I owed him a reply but didn't have much to tell him this time.

They'd been talking on the news about a place called Guadalcanal and the big fight that was taking place there. I tried to find it on a map of the world that we had, but couldn't. I guess it was good news that the Russians were beginning to fight back, and the Germans had lost some battles. That was certainly new news, and it gave us a little hope that things might be turning around.

Something new had happened, but I didn't think I needed to share it with Troy. Harley Patton had asked me for a date. I'd run into him at the grocery store and hadn't seen him for a while. We'd been in a Sunday school class together, but I'd stopped going to church when Ryan died. Harley was a little older than I was, and I knew he'd never been married. He was a nice enough guy, but I wasn't ready for dating yet if I ever would be, so I tried to be as polite as possible when I told him no. He said he understood, but I'm not sure he really did. I didn't see him again.

Mother got after me a little when I told her I'd been talking with Harley.

"Honey, knowing Harley, I bet he asked you to go out with him."

"What do you mean, knowing Charlie? What's there to know?"

"He lives by himself on that big farm, and I think he'd like to have some company, you know."

"Maybe he should hire a housekeeper or something,' I said a little cynically.

"Don't be mean, Paige. I bet he was very polite, and evidently, you told him no on the date."

"I did, and he was very polite. Do you know how old he is?"

"He's probably thirty-eight or thirty-nine. I'm sure he'd be after me if I was a little younger."

"If you were a little younger, would you say yes?" I really wondered what the answer would be.

"I think you're trying to trap me, Paige."

I laughed. "I just had my twenty-fourth birthday, Mom. Harley is nice but a little too old."

"When this war is over, if it ever gets there, there may not be many twenty-four-year-olds to chase you. So many boys being killed."

"It's so sad. At least three that I went to high school with are among them. We all had such plans, you know. I looked in my yearbook to see what they'd written. Two of them said they were going into the Army, and the third was going to join his father's business. I'm so glad we don't have anyone close that we have to worry about."

"You're still writing to Troy, aren't you?"

"I replied to his last letter, but it didn't say much. I don't think they allow the guys to say much about the fighting that's going on."

"I know he isn't your favorite person in the world, but I don't want anything to happen to him."

"Oh, I don't either, Mom. I don't either."

We'd been good about not using much sugar, had saved some apples from our tree, and were anticipating an apple pie. It had been a while since we'd had a delicacy like that, so it was very special. We might save it for Thanksgiving. I wasn't due for another pair of shoes for a week, so I'd put cardboard in the ones I had to cover the hole in the sole. Even though I had more money now, this would be my third pair for this year, and that's all that were allowed. At least I'd be a little ahead for next year.

We were also trying to look ahead to Christmas and what we might do then. I prayed each night for this war to be over so that things could be a little more normal. Listening to the news, I wasn't sure my prayers were doing any good.

February 1943

I hadn't heard from Troy since before Thanksgiving, and I was terribly worried. There was the possibility that, with everything that was going on around him, he'd simply gotten tired of writing to me. I hoped that might be the case rather than the other distinct possibility.

I was much more used to working now and wasn't nearly as exhausted at the end of the day as I had been before. For the first time, I felt that my prayers were being answered as we were beginning to get much better news about theh progress of the war. No one was saying that it was nearly over, and I think as many of our boys were being killed as ever, but it seemed we were advancing and gaining territory rather than retreating and losing it.

Mother told me that she'd run into Harley Patton in town, and he'd mentioned that he'd asked me for a date. She said she thought he might be hoping that she'd encourage me to accept, but she told him that I had a mind of my own and such things were up to me. I appreciated her saying that since it was certainly true.

Near the end of the month, I was surprised and pleased to receive a letter from Troy. It was different this time; the envelope had been torn and taped. I'd heard there was a new system ready to be put in place where they'd microfilm the letter, send it to the US, then reprint and mail it. It seemed less personal, but I guess it saved space that could be used for more important things.

I opened the letter and began to read.

Dearest Anne,

You know that I have loved you since before we graduated from high school, and I have been imagining my return to you and our marriage. You must be able to imagine how your last letter has affected me. You have always been the kindest, most considerate, and gentlest woman I have known, thus my surprise when your letter said you were ending our engagement in order to marry a mysterious someone.

My heart has been overwhelmingly heavy since that day, and I can't imagine what my future might hold. I feel an intense sense of frustration as I am, of course, unable to talk with you personally to see if there might be some sort of remedy for this situation. Evidently, there was some inadequacy of mine that left you somehow dissatisfied. I've spent nearly every non-combat moment searching my brain for what that might be. I can't imagine that I'm suffering for volunteering to serve our country in these desperate times.

I stopped reading, trying to digest what this meant. Troy's letter had somehow gotten mixed with another, and I'd gotten the other one, not meant for me. I was already feeling sorry for the writer of the letter and couldn't imagine what it must be like to be fighting for your country and be dumped for an unknown person. I needed to read more.

It was just a week ago that one of my buddies had gotten a similar letter, and I felt so lucky to have you at home waiting for me. I think he and I will have to get together and share stories.

After reading what I've written, I won't change anything since we've always promised we'd be truthful with each other, but I will apologize for some of the things I've said. Even though we were engaged, we hadn't exchanged our vows. So your bowing out is just a change of mind and heart, I guess.

Because I've loved you, I wish you the very best in the new life you've chosen. I'll probably be here or somewhere else fighting the Germans, the Italians, or maybe even the Japanese. It doesn't really matter; they all shoot bullets at us. You'll probably have moved off somewhere with your new husband, so we won't see each other again. I wish it could be different, but that's a wish that won't be coming true. Bye-bye, Anne.

Arnie

I read it again. Poor Arnie. We had something in common since I'd lost Ryan, and he'd lost Anne. There was no date on the letter and no last name for Arnie. And Anne could probably live anywhere in the forty-eight states. As I looked at the letter one more time, I wondered why I was so interested and curious about Arnie. We'd experienced similar pain, but the thought of being off in hot and sandy Africa, expecting to be welcomed home by a wonderful woman you are planning to marry, and having that torn away from you has to make you feel like you're helplessly drowning, and there's no one to save you. How awful.