Chapter Four Ava

FOUR : AVA

DELANEY HORSE FARM

JANUARY 1942

The old farmhouse creaked and moaned in the biting wind, making me wish I'd lingered in bed a little longer. Gertrude said the almanac foretold a hard winter, and I believed it. We'd already suffered two rounds of ice and snow, making life miserable for us and the two dozen horses we cared for. Dark clouds rolling in from the north meant more winter weather was on its way.

I closed my eyes and let the warmth of the coffee mug in my hands seep into the rest of my body. Yet as good as it felt, it couldn't penetrate the frozen despair that had taken up permanent residence deep inside me the day Pearl Harbor was attacked by Japan. Icy fingers of panic clawed at my heart every moment since, with President Roosevelt's words after the attack—a radio address the newspapers called his infamy speech —making it worse.

I inhaled a deep breath, fighting tears that seemed to hover just below the surface these days. Despite the terrible national heartbreak, most Americans carried on with life, albeit with sadness and anger, as well as a healthy dose of patriotism. I too would have come through the tragedy intact had it not been for the arrival of a telegram three days later. That lone piece of paper ushered in the chilling truth of the devastation Japan's attack had inflicted upon me personally. The raw terror caused by a handful of typed words destroyed my world just as surely as Japanese bombs destroyed the naval fleet, safe in the harbor... or so they'd thought.

Mrs. Ava Delaney,

On behalf of the Department of the Navy, it is my sad duty to confirm that your husband SN Richard Delaney was killed at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, 7December 1941. He was aboard the USS West Virginia when it was attacked and sunk by Japanese torpedoes.

My eyes sprang open.

I couldn't spend another day dwelling on all I'd lost. To do so only brought on depression, hopelessness... and guilt. Guilt for not loving Richard enough. Guilt for worrying more about my own future now that he was gone rather than cherishing the memories of our brief time together. While some might not blame me, considering I'd only known Richard a total of three weeks before becoming his wife last May, other people—my mother-in-law—saw my paralyzing fear as nothing short of betrayal.

"My son deserves to be mourned by his wife," Gertrude declared just yesterday, her disapproving glare fastened on me as I pulled a batch of peanut butter cookies from the oven. "But here is his widow, baking as though she hadn't a care in the world."

I'd set the tray on the stovetop, stung by the hot pan as well as her sharp words. "I do mourn him. Every moment of every day I wish he were alive."

Which was the truth. I grieved for the life we would never have together, yet I had only been Richard's wife for four blissful days before he left for Hawaii. I hadn't seen him in seven months. His letters were sweet and full of romance, but I'd often felt they came from a stranger. How was I supposed to navigate the loss of someone I hadn't truly known?

But I couldn't tell any of that to his mother.

Gertrude was inconsolable when the telegram arrived. We should have grieved together, but she shut herself in her room. The following day a Navy officer from the recruitment office in Nashville arrived at the farm. She received him, barely acknowledging me as Richard's wife. Although I couldn't blame her, I'm certain the officer wondered why I had little to say in the matter of my husband's death. He'd explained that Richard's body, like that of so many sailors who'd died in the harbor, would not be coming home, breaking Gertrude's heart anew. When the man tried to hand a folded US flag to me, Gertrude stepped forward and accepted it. I realized then we would each bear the burden of grief alone and in our own way. Me with my fear, and Gertrude with her bitterness.

The cookie incident was just one of the many times she'd tried to shame me. I usually ignored her, but yesterday I'd had enough.

"Daniel is leaving tomorrow to join the Army," I'd said, more as a reprimand than a reminder. "Peanut butter cookies are his favorite."

I knew Gertrude had a soft spot for the teenage boy who came to help with the horses. She'd wept when he announced he planned to quit school and go to war now that he was eighteen. After my comment, she huffed and walked out of the kitchen, but the barb she'd launched with her words hit its mark.

I'd only been a real wife a handful of days, yet I would be punished for the rest of my life for not being a good one.

I set the coffee mug down and heaved a heavy sigh.

Something had to change. I couldn't live week after week, suffering Gertrude's disapproval and longing for a happy life that would never be mine. As Richard's widow, I would receive his death benefits, which would be enough for a fresh start somewhere else. But I also knew Gertrude desperately needed financial help to keep the farm running. Richard had joined the Navy to see the world, but he'd also needed a steady income. Every month he sent money home to help keep things afloat. Once his time in the Navy was up, however, he'd hoped to sell the farm—an idea he hadn't broached with Gertrude.

"When she understands I don't want the farm," he'd said. "I'm sure she'll agree to sell."

Yet after living with her for seven months, I wasn't so sure. Gertrude talked of expanding the property once Richard returned home. Of purchasing more horses and breathing life back into things. She dreamed of making the farm what it was before the dark days of the Depression sunk them into debt. The one time I dared to suggest Richard didn't want the farm, she flew into a rage. I never mentioned it again.

Oh, Richard. What are we supposed to do without you?

As difficult as I found Gertrude, I knew she was grieving the loss of her only child. Richard was full of fun and excitement. He'd swept me off my feet quite literally the night we met at a dance at the USO in Nashville. By the end of our third date, he'd declared he loved me and wanted me to become his wife before he shipped out.

"I'll be stationed in Hawaii for a year," he'd said, his green eyes dancing in the brilliant spring sunshine as we held hands and walked around the Parthenon in Centennial Park. "Just think of it, Ava. You can come to the islands as soon as I get our housing approved. We'll go to the beach every day and drink out of coconuts every night." Then he'd grabbed me in a tight embrace, twirled me around, and begged me to marry him.

My eyes filled as the bittersweet memory faded.

I'd been a fool to go along with his plan. I may have been infatuated with the handsome sailor, but I knew I wasn't in love with him. Yet I had no family to speak of and a dead-end job. Richard offered love, stability, and excitement, and I'd embraced it with both arms. Neither of us anticipated the many delays in obtaining housing on base and the need for me to stay in Tullahoma far longer than planned. The last letter I received from him said he hoped to have things worked out by Christmas, promising we'd spend the holiday together. He'd signed it Mele Kalikimaka, from your adoring husband .

I stood and moved to look out the window over the sink.

The view never disappointed.

Winter pastures surrounded by white fencing. Tree-covered hills in the distance. Horses grazing on what little they could find. A barn for hay and equipment, and a stable with twenty horse stalls. According to Gertrude, the farm thrived in the old days when people used horses for travel and farmwork. They'd even supplied animals to the Tennessee State Guard horse-mounted cavalry divisions stationed at Camp Peay in the twenties. Sadly, Mr. Delaney died when Richard was a teenager, and he'd taken on the responsibilities that came with running the farm. But raising Tennessee walking horses wasn't Richard's dream.

"I want to see the world," he'd told me on our wedding night, holding me in his arms as we watched the sun set over Nashville from our fifth-floor window in the Maxwell House Hotel. "Being stuck in a small town like Tullahoma was okay when I was a kid, but I'm a married man now. I don't want my wife mucking out horse stalls all her life." He caressed my cheek with his thumb, his gaze intense. "As soon as I'm finished with the Navy, you and me will head to New York City or Los Angeles. Someplace exciting."

It had all sounded so wonderful.

Until it turned into a nightmare.

Floorboards above me squeaked, drawing me out of the past.

Gertrude was awake. She'd be downstairs soon, spouting off a list a mile long of chores that needed tending.

I went to the small refrigerator and took out enough bacon for myself. Gertrude insisted on making her own breakfast despite the many times I'd offered to do so since moving in with her. The fact that she'd never volunteered to make breakfast for me seemed rude at first, but I figured her chilliness would subside as we got to know one another. According to Richard, she was an excellent cook, and he suggested cooking lessons as a marvelous way for us ladies to bond. Unfortunately Gertrude wasn't interested in bonding with me over cooking or anything else. The morning I surprised her with a ready meal, she unapologetically declared it inedible.

"Overcooked eggs and undercooked sausage," she'd muttered as she shoved it away.

I'd just cracked two eggs into a skillet of sizzling bacon when she appeared in the kitchen doorway, bundled in a thick sweater over a faded housedress. Wool socks and sturdy shoes completed the ensemble.

"Good morning." I offered a tight smile. "It's quite chilly today. Coffee's ready."

The eggs snapped and popped, splattering drops of hot grease on the stovetop. I hurried to flip them over, breaking the yokes in the process and causing more flying droplets to dot the stove.

"Your skillet's too hot." She scowled. "I'll have a greasy mess to clean now."

I turned off the flame. "I'll clean it."

She harrumphed and moved to pour a cup of coffee. "We've got plenty to do, what with a storm coming. We sure don't need extra work."

I scraped my breakfast from the pan onto a plate. The sight almost made me cry.

Overcooked eggs and undercooked bacon.

While I ate the paltry meal, Gertrude prepared fluffy scrambled eggs and perfectly crisp bacon for herself. Knowing cordial conversation would not take place, I opened the morning newspaper. Daniel was good about leaving it on the porch when he came to feed the horses. We were going to miss that young man.

Stories about the war dominated the front page, but I had no interest in reading them. I flipped to the local section and scanned articles about a missing cow and the high price of gasoline.

When I turned the page, my eyes fastened on five bold words in the top left corner.

Camp Forrest to Hire Civilians

I stopped chewing the bite of rubbery bacon I'd just taken.

Camp Forrest, located two miles from Tullahoma, needs civilian employees to fill vacancies in the post exchanges, laundry service, maintenance, and administrative offices. Those with experience will be given first preference but all are welcome to apply.

The article gave instructions on where applicants should go and what documentation to bring when they arrived on base. It also declared the salaries being offered were higher than those found at most local businesses.

I swallowed the meat and stared at the newspaper.

Richard hadn't wanted me to work while I waited to move to Hawaii, but I'd held all kinds of jobs since I was fourteen. The years after Mom and Dad divorced filled my memory. Dad disappeared from our lives and Mom remarried a man with three kids younger than me. When her new husband moved the family to Chicago, I begged to remain in St. Louis with her sister until I finished school. Aunt Vy wasn't thrilled but let me stay as long as I paid my own way. I washed dishes at cafés, scrubbed toilets at hotels, and sold tools at the hardware store. As soon as I graduated high school, I moved to Nashville and found work as a secretary.

I drummed the table with my fingers, my mind alert.

Maybe I could get a job on the military base. Not only would it provide extra income we desperately needed, but it would offer an escape from Gertrude and the farm each day—something my sanity desperately needed. But did I want to work at a large military installation? Most of the soldiers I saw in town were far too rowdy and flirtatious for my liking. Would that be an everyday annoyance I'd have to deal with?

Yet the promise of a good salary chipped at the icy fear encasing my heart.

If I saved enough money, I could give my widow's benefits to Gertrude and leave Tullahoma. I wasn't sure where I'd go, but I knew it would be as far away from Tennessee as I could get. Richard hadn't wanted me to slave away on this farm when he was alive. Now with him gone, there was nothing keeping me here.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. The article said they were taking applications from 9a.m. to 3p.m. today. If I hurried, I could be one of the first to—

"What's got you worked up?"

I found Gertrude eyeing me from across the table. How would she feel about my idea? With Daniel joining the Army, the full care of the horses and farm would fall on her until we could find someone to help. Although she was still able to work around the property, the job was more than one woman her age could handle.

I decided honesty was best. "There's an article that says Camp Forrest is hiring civilians. I'm thinking about applying for a job."

I hadn't known what reaction to expect, but the look of sheer panic that filled her sun-wrinkled face was not it. "You're going to leave me here all alone?"

The frantic words shocked me. In all the months I'd spent with her, she'd never once given the impression she needed me. Or wanted me here, for that matter. She missed her husband and her son, but she'd made it clear I was a sorry substitute. This unexpected vulnerability, however, gave me pause and made me wonder if all her bluster and bravado was a facade, hiding a woman beneath who was just as frightened of the future as I was.

Had I completely misjudged her?

"I would only be gone during the day," I said, hoping to alleviate her worry. "I wouldn't live on base. They're offering good salaries, and you know we need the money."

A moment passed before her expression returned to the scowl I was used to seeing. "An unmarried woman shouldn't work on a military base full of men. You know Richard wouldn't have approved, and neither do I."

I sighed. So much for misjudging her. "Lots of women work on military bases all over the country. While I'm in town, I'll stop at the high school and ask the principal if he can recommend a boy to take Daniel's place."

My firm words didn't sit well with her. We argued for the next ten minutes, but I wouldn't give in. I left her fuming while I changed clothes and applied a bit of makeup for the first time in months. Grabbing the keys to my old Ford sedan, I returned to the kitchen.

Gertrude glared at me from her place at the table, but her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she'd been crying. "I know what you're up to."

Guilt washed over me. Had she guessed my need to get away from her, even for a few hours each day? I was on the verge of making a full confession when she blurted out her accusation.

"You're looking for a new husband, but I won't tolerate it. Do you hear me? I won't allow you to bring men into this house, soiling my Richard's memory."

I stared at her. Had she lost her mind? "How can you even think I'd be ready to date, let alone marry again? It's barely been a month since he died."

"You only knew my son a week before you tricked him into marrying you. All you'd have to do is bat those lashes at another man and—"

"Stop this." My body trembled with anger. "Richard proposed to me, and I accepted. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, but he's gone. We are barely making ends meet. We need more income. I'm going to apply for a job." I leveled a look at her meant to silence any more nonsense. "A job."

I left the house without another word.

The Ford didn't start on the first try. Or the second. I fiddled with the gas lever and the choke, then crossed my fingers and tried it again. Thankfully the engine roared to life, and I headed into town. I stopped at the high school and spoke with the principal, who said he knew a couple of boys who didn't live far from us who might be willing to help with farm chores. After leaving my telephone number with his secretary, I made my way to the military base outside the city limits. Even though I'd been married to a Navy man, the sight of armed guards sent a chill racing through me—a reminder that our country was indeed at war.

The young man in an Army-green uniform didn't smile when I rolled down my window.

"Ma'am. What business do you have at Camp Forrest?"

I swallowed. "I'm here to apply for a job. The newspaper said—"

"ID."

I handed it to him. When he returned the card to me, he pointed to one of several two-story, whitewashed buildings located just inside the gate. "The administrative office is on the right, with the flagpole. You can fill out an application there. You do not have permission to go beyond that point."

He took a step back and dismissed me with a motion to move forward. A look in the rearview mirror revealed a number of cars behind me, waiting to enter the base. I thanked him and did exactly as I'd been told. I parked in front of the nondescript structure and, upon entering, found myself in a large room. A dozen or more desks were occupied by women, and the sound of typewriters echoed off the bare wood walls. Two women sat in metal chairs to my left, busy filling out forms.

An older woman approached and offered a pleasant smile. "Good morning. May I help you?"

I nodded. "I saw the ad in the newspaper about civilians being hired at the camp. I'd like to apply for a job."

She smiled again. "I thought so. We've had quite a lot of applicants since the newspaper ad ran."

At my look of concern, she touched my arm. "Don't worry. There are plenty of jobs. Laundry. Cooking. Clerical. What type of work are you looking for?"

While I would take just about any position offered, I thought about what I'd prefer to do if given a choice.

"I was a secretary in Nashville, before..." I paused. If this place was to be an escape for me, I'd rather no one knew about Richard. Not yet anyway. "Before I came to Tullahoma."

"We can always use more girls in the secretarial pool." She handed me a clipboard with a sheet of paper attached to it and a pencil. "Fill this out. Someone will contact you in a day or two."

I took a seat and read the bold heading on the official-looking document.

Application for Employment, Camp Forrest, Tullahoma, Tennessee

As I wrote down my personal information, the tiniest spark of hope ignited somewhere deep inside me.

Hope for today.

Hope for tomorrow.

Despite the devastation in my life and in the world around me, I didn't want darkness and despair to win. Hope didn't make any promises, but it offered a glimpse of happiness, the kind I hadn't known in a very long time.

I could be content with that.