Spring Of 43

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May 25th 1943

Eileen Sullivan leaned back in her comfortable lounge chair and savored the cold beer she'd waited all day to enjoy. On the Philco radio to her left, the announcer was extolling the virtues of Roma Wines, the sponsor of her favorite program, Suspense. Tonight's episode, "Sorry, Wrong Number," was a particularly good one, featuring Agnes Moorehead as a bedridden woman who overhears a murder plot on her phone and frantically tries to get someone to believe her.

"You can keep your fancy wine," Eileen said to the unseen announcer as she took another sip from the glass she had poured her Rheingold into. "This gets the job done just fine."

As the glass was already nearly empty, the forty-three year old brunette considered getting another bottle from the refrigerator, but then decided against it. After all, it was a Tuesday night and she had to be back at the cardboard box factory for her shift tomorrow morning. Jobs might've been more plentiful than only a few years ago, but she didn't want to risk this one by showing up late, or worse -- with a hangover. So she'd stick to her ration of a single beer and enjoy the CBS drama and her solitude. The program resumed and Eileen listened in fascination as the central character, Mrs. Stevenson, discovered she was the intended victim.

An unexpected echo of footsteps in the hall outside her apartment abruptly interrupted her listening, steps that suddenly faded as, whoever it was, came to a stop on her landing. It was rather late for visitors, Eileen thought, especially on a weekday. She wasn't expecting anyone, and she knew that her brother and his family were away for a couple of days. So that left the Campbells and the Marshalls in the back apartments. Curious as to which of them it was, she lowered the volume on the radio and stepped over to the door to hear more. When she heard the loud knocking of knuckles on wood, Eileen slowly opened her door just enough to peek out into the hall, making sure that the door chain was securely in place beforehand.

There, standing in front of her brother's apartment, was a young man who, even in the dim overhead light, Eileen could see was wearing what she recognized as a U.S. Army summer uniform. Which in of itself wasn't all that unusual, given that there was a war on, but no one in their family was currently serving. Was it possible, she asked herself, that he simply had the wrong apartment?

"If you're looking for the Laytons, I'm afraid they're not home at the moment," Eileen said as she opened her door as far as the chain would allow. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The figure in khaki turned at the sound of her voice, allowing Eileen to see by the accouterments on his uniform that he was an enlisted man, specifically, a private first class according to the chevron on his sleeve. There was also a colorful shoulder patch above the rank insignia, but she had no idea what it signified. The look of momentary confusion on her face, however, quickly turned to one of recognition as her attention shifted from his uniform to his face. An expression that the young man also shared.

"Oh hi, Mrs. Sullivan," the clean shaven and seemingly much too young soldier said with a smile.

"Charlie McNeil, what in the world are you doing here?" Eileen responded in surprise, quickly undoing the chain so she could open the door the rest of the way. "The last any of us heard, you were stationed somewhere down in Texas."

The slim nineteen year old had grown up just across the street, in an apartment his family had lived in for nearly three decades before moving out to Long Island some eight months ago. The move had coincided with both the younger McNeil entering military service and his father getting a new job at a defense plant.

"That's right, Camp Bowie, just outside of Brownwood," Charlie confirmed, "but that was just for basic training. They've moved us twice since then; now I'm at Fort Dix over in New Jersey."

'Join the army and see New Jersey,' Eileen thought. 'Now there's a great enticement to get someone to sign up.'

"As to what I'm doing here, I was hoping to surprise Doris," the blond haired teen continued, "but from what you just said, I guess I'm the one surprised."

Charlie further explained that, even though he was primarily an infantryman, he'd been temporarily assigned as a motor pool driver. Some officers from his Division had to attend a two day conference at Fort Hamilton and, since he was from Brooklyn and therefore presumably familiar with the area, his platoon sergeant had volunteered him to be their driver.

"Once we got here, there really isn't much more for me to do, so I asked Captain Ferguson if it might be possible for me to get a pass to go and see my girl," he continued. "The Captain is a good guy and he said he didn't see a problem with that, as long as I managed to keep myself out of trouble and be back by lunch tomorrow, which is when the conference is scheduled to end. So, a twelve hour pass, a nickel for the subway, and here I am."

"I see," Eileen said noncommittedly.

"You said that Doris and her family aren't home?" Charlie repeated.

"No, they left for Trenton yesterday morning," Eileen replied. "James' father-in-law passed away over the weekend and they went to the funeral."

"Shit!" Charlie said under his breath before apologizing for his language.

"Look, why don't you come inside and we'll talk," Eileen suggested as she became aware that their voices were loud enough to bring out some of the remaining neighbors.

As she stepped aside to let Charlie precede her into the small apartment, Eileen glanced down at the well-worn blue and white, short sleeved house dress that she'd changed into after coming home from work. It had certainly seen better days and wasn't what she'd normally receive guests in, but it was also so comfortable that she couldn't bring herself to toss it out. Then again, there was a war on, as the government constantly reminded everyone, and people had to make do with what they had. As she followed him inside, she was sure Charlie wouldn't think anything of it.

-=-=-=-

The radio drama was wrapping up as they stepped into the living room and, as she reached for the knob to turn it off, Eileen wondered if Mrs. Stevenson had been able to convince anyone of the danger she was in. Oh well, she thought, it was a popular program and she was sure someone would be able to tell her what happened tomorrow.

"Why don't you have a seat?" she said to Charlie as she directed him to the couch across from her lounge chair. "Can I get you something to drink? I have beer in the refrigerator."

Charlie, who was just taking off his garrison cap, hesitated before answering. Even though the Captain had hastily scribbled out a pass for him in case he encountered any MPs, the recently promoted PFC wasn't sure what that entitled him to do during that time. The best course, he decided, was to act if he was still on duty.

"I'd love a Coke if you have it, Mrs. Sullivan," he replied instead.

"That I do," Eileen said as she started towards the kitchen to get the soda, pausing long enough to also say. "And you're a grown man now, you can call me Eileen if you want."

"Thank you," he replied, a smile filling his face.

As he watched Eileen exit the room, Charlie hardly noted the condition of her dress, but did find himself reminded how different she was from her sister-in-law, Florence -- Doris's mother. With short, lightly curled brown hair that had only recently started to gray, Eileen stood five six and weighed about a hundred and twenty pounds. She had what most considered an above average figure, mostly due to the way her breasts filled out her dress top. Mrs. Layton, on the other hand, was both three inches shorter and nearly ten pounds heavier. Her breasts were actually larger, but definitely not as firm. Having often heard that girls emulated their mothers as they got older, Charlie greatly hoped that Doris took after her aunt instead.

As he waited, Charlie glanced around at an apartment that was both familiar and new at the same time. All of the buildings on the block had been built around the turn of the century, all following the same construction plans. So, while he had never been in Eileen's place before, he had been in apartments that were identical in layout.

One of the smaller offerings in the building, it had only three and a half rooms, the living room that he was in, a bedroom off to his right and the kitchen that Eileen had gone off to on his left. Just before the bedroom was a small bathroom with only a sink and toilet. If you wanted to bathe, the tub was located in the kitchen where it doubled as a table when you placed a removable top on it. In the larger apartments with multiple bedrooms, they had a full bathroom, tub included.

The furniture around him was simple enough, much of it being second hand. When Eileen had moved here after her husband's death, she hadn't taken many pieces from her old home, lest they constantly remind her of her loss. She'd used the money from their sale to buy new furniture, or at least new to her.

Eileen returned from the kitchen with two Cokes and a small tin of cookies, laying the latter on the coffee table. The caps of the Georgia Green bottles had already been popped off in the kitchen, so she took a quick sip from one after handing Charlie the other.

"Charlie, I have to say, I'm a little confused," Eileen said after waiting for the young man to take a long drink of his own beverage. "Didn't Doris write you?"

"The mail has been pretty screwed up, what with all the moving around we've done the last few months," Charlie pointed out as he sampled one of the cookies from the tin. "The last letter I got from her was about a month ago, but that had been sent in March. The way it's going, anything she sent since then probably won't show up at Dix until after we've already moved on to England. Scuttlebutt says we might be making the jump as soon as next month."

"You're going to England, already?" a surprised Eileen asked. "But you've haven't even been in uniform a year."

"Most of the guys I trained with are already there," Charlie pointed out. "A lot of people are still saying that we might make the invasion this year, although more say that '44 is a better bet."

Despite the uniform he wore, Eileen had trouble thinking of the kid from down the block as a soldier. He was so young. But then again, she knew better than most that it was young men who fought the battles -- and died in them.

They chatted for over a half hour, with Eileen bringing him up to date on the doings in the neighborhood and Charlie telling her about the places he'd been and the people he'd met. He'd grown up so much in a very short time, she thought, but there was still a lot of the kid she remembered in him as well.

"I never realized how big this country is," Charlie was saying, "or how many different kinds of people live in it."

"You're lucky," Eileen offered. "The only time I've been out of New York City was on my honeymoon. We took the Empire State Express up to Niagara Falls. I'd never been on a train before that, or since."

They'd just about run out of things to talk about when the conversation took an awkward turn.

"Was there something important that Doris wrote to me about?" Charlie asked, having picked up on the implication from the older woman's earlier comment.

Eileen sat silent for nearly half a minute, trying to decide what exactly to say. This really should be coming from Doris, she thought, even if it were only words written on a piece of paper. Still, if Charlie was indeed about to go off to war, it wouldn't be fair to let him go under false pretenses.

"Charlie, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it," Eileen said after a long breath. "Doris sent you what I believe they're starting to call a 'Dear John' letter."

Charlie hadn't heard the term before, but it didn't sound good. He immediately peppered Eileen with questions, the answers to which she really wanted to avoid. She was conflicted as to whether she should tell the truth, or would a lie be kinder. In the end she decided on the former since somewhere down the line, her niece's letter might eventually show up.

"Charlie, you have to understand that, even though Doris turned eighteen a few months after you, she still has a lot of growing to do before she's really an adult," Eileen began. "What I mean is that not every girl is mature enough to make a commitment to someone about to go off in harm's way, not knowing when or if they'll come back."

"But before I shipped out she promised to wait," Charlie interjected. "In fact, she even wanted to ..."

He suddenly paused in mid-sentence, realizing that what Doris had offered was definitely not something she'd want repeated to her aunt.

Eileen had to suppress the smile at the corner of her mouth. She actually did know what Doris had offered Charlie on his last night home and, considering how her feelings had changed since then, the older woman was grateful that circumstances had prevented her niece from following through on it.

"Is there another guy?" Charlie asked.

Eileen didn't answer, which all but confirmed that there was.

"Who is he?" he inquired.

"Someone who didn't come into the picture until after Doris had written to you," Eileen said instead of answering the question. "So who he is really doesn't matter, does it?"

Eileen sincerely hoped that satisfied him. If not, she hoped that Charlie didn't know Alvin Blackshear, who was now very much in Doris's life. If he did, this could turn bad very quickly. It wasn't that the twenty year old technician that worked at Peterson's Radio Repair was a bad guy; in fact, the opposite was actually true. No, the problem lay in the fact that Alvin had been classified as 4F because of having only limited hearing in his left ear, due to a childhood illness. The brunette had heard stories of draftees, having had their lives upended, totally losing it when finding out that they'd lost their girl to someone who didn't have to serve. Now, that wasn't exactly what had happened in this case, but Eileen wasn't sure if Charlie would see the difference.

"She really likes this guy?" Charlie unexpectedly asked.

"Yes, I believe she does," Eileen replied.

"Then I guess there's nothing I can do about it, is there?" Charlie said.

Eileen just sort of shrugged, not knowing what she could really say. She was glad the young man was taking it so well, yet at the same time she felt a bit of concern as to whether he'd still feel that way once he'd had time to dwell on it.

"Since there was no reason for me to come here in the first place, I guess I should be going then," Charlie abruptly said.

"No, I think you should stay, at least for a while," Eileen quickly countered, thinking there was little for a soldier to do in this part of Brooklyn on a week night other than go to a movie or a bar, and it was already too late to catch a movie.

Charlie looked at her with a perplexed expression.

"Your Captain told you to stay out of trouble, didn't he?" she pointed out. "Can you honestly tell me that you're not going to go off to a bar or some other inappropriate place, where you might be hard pressed to do that?"

That made Charlie pause, thinking that she was right.

"Okay, I'll stay a while longer," he finally said.

As they sat there in silence, finishing their sodas, Eileen felt a bit responsible for Charlie's situation. She and Doris had a close relationship, and the younger girl often came to her for advice instead of her mother, especially when it involved boys. When Charlie had told Doris that he'd been drafted, she'd gone to her aunt and asked her advice what to do. Eileen had responded by sharing a personal tale from back when she had been Doris's age.

It was 1917, years before Eileen had met her now deceased husband. America had just entered what was being called The Great War, although she said she supposed they just called it World War I now. There had been a boy named James Cassidy, whom she loved with all her heart. They'd talked of marriage and a life together, but before any of that could happen James, like Charlie, got his letter from the local draft board. And like Doris, Eileen was uncertain what she should do.

They'd considered getting married before he shipped out, but James thought that a bad idea. Eileen, however, wanted to demonstrate how much he meant to her, and had given him that priceless gift that she'd been taught shouldn't be surrendered outside of the bridal bed. James left the next day, leaving her his love and a promise to come back to her. A promise unfulfilled as, a year later, he was killed in the Battle of the Argonne.

Doris's decision to sleep with Charlie had doubtlessly come from her story, Eileen knew, even if she didn't learn of it until after it hadn't happened. And it was months later when the older woman learned that her niece had taken the other half of her tale even more to heart. Doris realized she couldn't spend her empty days and nights waiting for Charlie, not knowing if he would ever come back. That was when she'd written the letter and moved on with her life.

"Are you okay, Charlie?" Eileen asked after they'd been sitting there for about a half hour.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said. "I guess part of me already knew that Doris wasn't really going to wait for me, so I shouldn't have been that surprised."

"Then I don't have to worry about you running off to some bar or ... someplace worse?" Eileen asked.

"I'm actually not that much of a drinker, and I've never been to one of those places," Charlie offered, having understood what she was talking about. "In fact, I've never even..."

He paused, his face suddenly flushed with embarrassment.

"Charlie, are you still a virgin?" Eileen asked before she could consider the inappropriateness of the question.

Charlie answered by not answering, his silence giving her the answer.

"I'm sorry, I really had no business asking something like that," Eileen said in an apologetic tone. "I just assumed, with you being in the army almost a year, that, well, isn't that what soldiers do when they go to town?"

"Some of the more experienced guys offered to take me, but I didn't want my first time to be..." he said, his voice trailing off.

A flash of understanding filled Eileen as she now more fully understood why Charlie had gone to such trouble to come and see Doris, even if they'd only be together a few hours. He was hoping she still wanted to fulfill her promise.

Eileen also became aware that she was now seeing Charlie differently than she had only a few hours ago. He no longer seemed like a boy playing soldier, but a man about to go off to war.

-=-=-=-

"Charlie, I was just thinking," Eileen said, "it's getting pretty late and ..."

"... I should go," Charlie finished her sentence, thinking that was what she was thinking.

"No, no," Eileen countered. "I was just thinking that maybe you might like to spend the night here. I mean, I'm sure there is a bed for you back at Fort Hamilton, but it does seem like such a bother to head back there in the middle of the night."

The young man reflexively glanced down at the couch he was sitting on, testing the softness of its cushions with his hands. It would certainly be more comfortable than a cot in the transient barracks.

"I guess the couch wouldn't be so bad," he said in way of acceptance to her surprising offer.

"Or..." Eileen said slowly, almost hesitantly, "if you want, you could share the even more comfortable mattress in the bedroom."

"What....?" Charlie gasped, his response this time more akin to shock than mere surprise.