Chapter Six

"I 'll tell it to the world, but I'm everlastingly rested up and need something to do." Friday kicked at a clod on the path he and a two other men from his brigade followed on a sunny autumn morning.

After days of fighting that blended together, their division had been moved to reserve status, then they'd marched for several days before stopping near a small village for a rest, where they had hot meals and warm beds. It was good to have time to let their bodies recover from the brutal time they'd spent in battle.

However, too much time of doing nothing was beginning to wear on them. That was why three of them had gone for a stroll, just to put their restless bodies into motion.

"You aren't the only one, Fitz, or shall I say Corporal?" asked Toby, a stout farm boy from southern Idaho.

"Fitz is fine, Toby," Friday said, giving his fellow soldier a cool glance. Ever since he got a field promotion for bravery in battle, the guys had been giving him a hard time. Not that it bothered him greatly, but after several days of ribbing, it was growing stale.

"If we're going to be forced to sit around and twiddle our thumbs, at least they could have let us go to Paris to do it," Toby said with a grin.

"You'd just get yourself into trouble there," Friday said with a teasing smirk.

"Where do you think they'll send us next?" asked Aaron, a freckled lad from Nevada with hair the color of a cardinal's back.

"I don't know, but Belgium arose in a conversation yesterday when I overheard two lieutenants talking," Friday said. He wasn't sure if Belgium would be worse or better than returning to the work of driving the Germans out of France.

"Aren't they famous for chocolate?" Toby asked as they rounded a bend in the path.

"Could be that they are." Friday stopped and watched an old woman trying to cut hay with a scythe.

She would cut a few strokes, lean on the handle of the scythe to rest, then cut a few more. Cut and rest. Cut and rest. At the rate she was going, it would take her until next summer to get the hay down. As late as it was in the year, Friday was surprised it was still green. Then again, with the warmer days they'd had, followed by rain, that probably was the reason there was another cutting of the hay to be taken.

"Come on, fellas. I see something we can do," Friday said, leaping over the low fence and jogging toward the woman. He didn't speak enough French to carry on a conversation. His brain scrambled to come up with a few key phrases as he approached the old woman.

" Bonjour ," he said, smiling and holding his hands in front of him in a universal sign of peace.

The old woman leaned on her scythe, looking as if she contemplated whether she should take a swing at them, ignore them altogether, or try to figure out what they wanted.

"We want to help," Friday said, then looked to the others. "Do either of you two speak French?"

"Nope," Aaron said and backed up a few steps. "Blake does, though. What is it you want to do, Fitz?"

"Help this woman with her hay. Go see if Blake can interpret for us," Friday said to Aaron, before his friend took off at a trot. Friday turned back to the old woman. "We"—he pointed to himself and Toby—"help you." He motioned to her. " Aide ."

" Aide ?" the woman repeated, then gave him and Toby a skeptical look. She waved her hand over the field of hay and said something in French neither of them understood. Friday took a step closer to her and placed a hand on the scythe. He pointed to himself, said " aide " again, then took the scythe that she reluctantly released.

He thought for a moment she might grab it away from him, but he got to work swinging it. He'd only gone a dozen feet when she clapped her hands, then hurried off toward the house and barn in the distance.

"What do you suppose she's getting? A shotgun? Sword?" Toby asked as he walked beside Friday.

"I don't know, but it feels good to work my muscles out here in the fresh air and sunshine. The sun feels so good after all the rain we've had."

"That it does," Toby said, turning his face to the orb of light. He stood there a moment with his eyes closed before he looked back at Friday.

Movement caught their attention as the old woman headed toward them with another scythe in her hands.

"Looks like my loafing time is through," Toby said with a grin. He ran over to the old woman and took the scythe from her. He moved to the top of the field nearest the barn and began cutting a row that would meet up with Friday's.

By the time they'd each cut two full rows, Aaron returned with Blake. Both of them held a scythe. Friday had no idea where they'd found them, but it would sure make the work go faster.

Blake greeted the old woman and spoke to her in French. She smiled and nodded, looking quite pleased by whatever he said. The four of them continued cutting the hay until the field lay in neat rows. When they finished, the old woman appeared with a tray that held a bottle of wine, a round of cheese, and a loaf of crusty bread.

" Merci ," Friday said, nodding politely to her, then looked to Blake. "Tell her we won't imbibe the wine but ask if she'd share some milk. She's got two cows out there in the pasture."

Blake rattled off something in French. The woman looked slightly insulted as she picked up the wine bottle, then pointed to the cows, shook her head, and replied to Blake.

"She said we can milk the cow if we wish but thinks we are crazy Americans," Blake said quietly. "She said babies drink milk, not grown men."

"Tell her we're babes of the Army then because I'm about to turn on a moo-juice spigot." Friday looked around for something to put the milk in. He spied a bucket hanging by the door of the house and took it off the hook. Toby kept the cow from running off while Friday filled the pail with rich, creamy milk.

The old woman provided four cracked glasses. Friday didn't know when anything had tasted as grand as that fresh milk straight from the source. They ate the bread and cheese, then each drank another glass of milk.

"We better head back," Friday said, glancing up at the sun. He looked at Blake. "Tell her if we're still around in a few days, we'll come move the hay into the barn for her."

Blake relayed the information, and the woman's face broke into a broad smile, revealing her lack of teeth along with her joy.

" Merci ! Merci !" she exclaimed, patting each of their cheeks.

Friday smiled and nodded at her, as did Toby, Aaron, and Blake, before they gathered the two scythes they'd borrowed from the Army and headed back to their camp.

"That milk was the best thing I've had since I left home," Toby said, patting his stomach. "I could have guzzled a gallon of it."

"Me too," Friday said in agreement. "If we're still around when the hay is dry enough to store, I bet she'll let us have some more."

"I'm sure she will. She was very grateful for our help. Her husband is dead. Her son was killed in June. Her daughter-in-law is expecting and unable to help," Blake said, swinging the scythe at a tall clump of grass growing along the edge of the path. "It felt good to do that for her."

"It did," Friday agreed. Something glimmering in the grass to his left caught his eye, so he veered off the path and plucked up a lone feather. It wasn't very big, but the teal-blue hue shimmered in the sunlight. He tucked it in his pocket to send to Harley John, who collected feathers.

Friday was starting to worry about him. The letter he'd written to Harley John had gone unanswered. From what Friday had heard, Harley John was listed as missing in action, which seemed odd because with his injuries, he should have still been at a hospital recovering.

They were nearly back to camp when Friday spied a few poppies in bloom. The beauty of them made him think of Molly. He wondered if she liked poppies. On the off chance she might, he picked one of the blossoms.

"Fitz is holding out on us. He's got a girl," Blake teased, jostling him as Friday twirled the poppy stem between his fingers.

"What's her name? Where did you meet her? Does she have a sister? Is she French?" Aaron pelted him with questions.

Friday laughed. "Where do you think I'd find a girl out here, fellas? Use your noggins. The only female I've seen in weeks was the toothless old lady with the cows. If any of you want to court her, be my guest."

Toby thumped Aaron on the back. "She's more your style," he said to Blake as the two of them chuckled.

Blake scowled at them both, then turned his glower on Friday. "I ought to wallop you, Fitz."

Friday shrugged. "You could try, but save that fighting energy for the Germans."

"Come on," Aaron said, giving Blake a nudge to the side as they approached their camp. "Let's put these scythes back where we found them."

That afternoon, when the mail finally caught up with them, the men crowded around the truck loaded with mailbags, boxes, and packages of all sizes.

"Calm down, you pack of hyenas. I got to get this all sorted," said the harried soldier in charge of passing out the mail. "Come back in an hour."

Moans and groans of protest carried over the crowd, but they dispersed in a mostly orderly fashion. When they returned to the mail truck an hour later, one of the commanding officers was there. He stood in the back and waited until they all quieted down.

"We'll be leaving soon for Belgium. If you have letters to write, take care of it. Tomorrow, you'll get a clothing allotment and new equipment before heading out. Rest all you can."

When the officer jumped off the truck and strode away, a quiet murmur soon became an animated roar as the men speculated fighting the Germans in yet another country foreign to them.

They quieted as mail call began, eagerly accepting news and packages from home. Friday was pleased to receive a box from his folks. He also had an envelope addressed to him in a decidedly feminine script. If Blake hadn't been standing right next to him, he might have lifted it to his nose for a whiff.

Instead, he feigned a nonchalant attitude as the others collected their mail. Friday managed to edge away from the group and find a quiet spot behind one of the barracks, where he leaned his back against a tree and opened the envelope.

A faint, soft fragrance tickled his nose, and he held it to his face, breathing deeply of the delightful scent before unfolding the sheet of stationery and glancing at the name at the bottom, both pleased and surprised to discover it was from Molly Thorsen.

"Well, how about that," Friday said with a grin as he settled back to read the letter.

Dear Private Fitzpatrick,

I received your letter. Harley John was not wrong in saying I would enjoy corresponding with you. I most certainly would. However, I am strictly forbidden from socializing with privates or civilians. That said, I'm not certain a letter now and then could be constituted as socializing. We could say it is more along the lines of keeping me informed about a mutual friend who will one day be my brother-in-law.

How is Harley John? I hope the two of you are staying out of trouble.

Friday stopped reading and frowned. Evidently, Molly hadn't heard about Harley John's injuries. He wondered if she'd seen his name on the missing-in-action list. He hated to be the one to share that harsh bit of news, but it was only fair to tell her what he knew.

You asked several questions, so I'll answer them, beginning with the easiest.

My favorite color is blue. All shades of blue. My bedroom at home is done in shades from the palest hue to a dark navy blue. I find blue to be such a peaceful color.

My favorite flowers are daisies, but I love all kinds of flowers.

I hadn't really thought about a favorite song. I find myself all too often humming "Over There." I also often wake up with the hymn "Abide With Me" in my thoughts. It's a rather nice way to start the day, thinking of God with us. I especially like the line that says, "I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless." It helps me to remember I'm never alone.

There are so many things I loved about growing up at Dogwood Corners. I don't know how much Harley John shared about my past, but my parents both died when I was twelve. Lars and Marnie took me in when I was thirteen, right after they opened the orphanage. It was hard for me at first, because I missed my parents so much. I was an only child and quite close with my mother. Did you know she was French? That's a story for another day, though.

Anyway, Dogwood Corners is a beautiful place, but more than that, it is a home full of love and laughter. Sadie and I seemed to lock horns all the time because we both liked to be in charge, which I really struggled with since I'm older than she. We were constantly at odds until one day we weren't. I guess we both just needed to grow up a bit.

Lars and Marnie offered to adopt me not long after I arrived at the orphanage, but I refused. I didn't want a new set of parents when I still missed mine so deeply. When I turned fifteen, they offered again, and by then I gratefully accepted. I changed my last name from Banks to Thorsen and have happily been one of the family ever since.

What I enjoyed most about Dogwood Corners was probably just the amount of love lavished on all of us from Dad and Mama as well as Gertie and Shea and the others who work there. My folks make us all toe the line, but everything is done with love, and we had a lot of fun. Harley John loves ice cream, so when she knew he'd be there for a meal, Gertie would make ice cream for him. We used to urge Sadie to invite him more frequently so we could all enjoy it.

Gosh, now you'll get the idea we were a bunch of manipulative degenerates.

I would like to learn more about the farm where you were raised, how many sisters constitute a gaggle, and your favorite color, or song, or food.

Knowing what I do about where you boys are at and heading, I hope you will be safe and well.

With sincere affection,

Molly Thorsen

Friday's cheeks hurt as he finished reading the letter, and he realized it was because he was grinning so broadly. Not only had Molly written to him, but she also seemed interested in learning more about him.

He would have stood up and cheered if it wouldn't have drawn attention to himself. Instead, he read through her letter a second time. If for no other reason, he was grateful for his field promotion to corporal because it removed any barrier about Molly being allowed to socialize with him.

"Ain't she a dilly!" Friday muttered before tucking the letter back into the envelope and securing it in his pocket. He'd reply to Molly tonight since he had no idea when he'd next get the chance. He assumed his mailing address would remain the same for now, although goodness only knew when the mail would catch up to them in Belgium.

He took a small pocketknife from his pocket and cut away the string wrapped around the box his parents had sent. Inside were letters from his mom and dad as well as from three of his sisters. There were packs of chewing gum, half a dozen Clark bars, a box of animal crackers, and a Whitman's Sampler. Friday studied the lid that showed the Army emblem. He opened it to find a pound of candy, as well as a copy of The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling.

"Well, that's a dandy trick," he said, popping a piece of candy in his mouth and looking forward to reading the book. It was small enough he could easily fit it in his pack.

The box also included a new toothbrush, which he'd been needing, more toothpaste, a new comb, and two pairs of wool socks, which were most welcome.

He ate a few more pieces of candy as he read the letters from home that filled him with a longing to be there among his family and strengthened his purpose in doing all he could to end the war soon.

Friday tucked everything back in the box and carried it to his bunk, then joined Blake, Aaron, and Toby for dinner in the mess hall.

That night, after he'd shared the candy because he wouldn't be able to take it with him, he wrote a letter to Molly, including the poppy blossom with it, and then wrote to his family. He quickly penned another note to Harley John, tucking in the feather he'd found. The letter bearing condolences to the wife of Clovis, letting her know her husband hadn't died alone or in vain, was hard for him to write, but he did it. When he finished, Friday placed the letter to the woman he'd never met on top of the tin he'd collected from Clovis that held her photo, the letters she'd sent to her husband, as well as the man's wedding ring, and wrapped the tin in paper he'd saved from the box his folks had sent. He tied the paper in place with a bit of leftover string and took his letters and the small parcel to the mail drop-off. He had to stand in line for fifteen minutes just to leave the mail. It appeared that almost everyone else in camp had the same idea of sending letters to loved ones before they headed out again.

On the way back to his bunk, Friday veered over to where Red Cross volunteers poured cups full of steaming hot chocolate and enjoyed one before he returned to his bunk and went to sleep with thoughts of Molly on his mind.