Heather Burch - One Lavender Ribbon

“The coffee shop?”

Sammie cast her eyes heavenward. “No. Here.”

“Oh, you mean why did I go to a town I’ve never been and buy a two-story, dilapidated handyman’s special? Key word being handy man’s special?”

Sammie chuckled. “Yeah.”

Adrienne pulled a deep breath. If anyone could understand the need for independence, it was Sammie, a woman who seemed to live by her own set of rules. “I needed to know I could do something on my own, something out of the ordinary.”

“Why else?”

Adrienne dug a little deeper into her heart. “For once in my life, I didn’t want to do what everyone expected of me. Eric expected me to stay in Chicago. Mom expected me to move home to Missouri.”

“Bingo.” Sammie pointed an index finger at her. “Good girl syndrome. You needed to prove yourself on your terms in your way. And do you know why?”

Adrienne shook her head.

“Because you’re sick of doing what’s safe. You wanted to do something dangerous. Unexpected. Something with as much likelihood of failing as succeeding. You’re challenging yourself to be a better woman. Way to go, Chicago.”

Sammie was right. From the time she was a little girl, Adrienne had been taught to play it safe. First by her mother, who could find the danger in a marshmallow— Don’t ride your bike by the road. Don’t cross the street alone. Don’t play too close to the picture window. Then Eric, with a whole new set of rules: Don’t laugh so loud ; you sound like a horse. Don’t smile so big ; it makes you look fake. Don’t stand like that ; you look like an old woman.

Oh, she’d been trained to be the perfect daughter, then the perfect wife. It was time to take some risks.

She pushed Eric from her thoughts because he didn’t deserve any more of her time. Instead, she stared at the photo, thought about William—risk taker extraordinaire—and tried to imagine him as an eighty-year-old man. Time would have changed his looks, but what about the tender heart and his gift for words? Maybe he’d laugh at the letters, remembering the passion, intensity, and fragility, like spun sugar of young love. Or perhaps his eyes would fill with tears, remembering death and war and pain. She had no way of knowing.

“You thinking about the letters?”

Adrienne crossed her arms in front of her on the table. “Am I that easy to read?”

Sammie tilted her head from side to side. “Pretty much. Which one is your favorite?”

“All the ones I’ve read.” Adrienne rolled her eyes. “But there is one that’s particularly haunting.” She reached into her jacket pocket.

“You brought it?”

Adrienne’s head bobbed up and down. “Thought you might like to hear one. Have you ever heard of Bastogne? William doesn’t mention the exact location, but a bit of digging online confirmed that’s where his unit would have been.”

Sammie’s gaze narrowed. “Maybe in high school history class, but that was a long time ago. Battle of the Bulge, right?”

“Listen to this . . . ”

December 1944

Dear Gracie,

I am cold. I miss the warmth of your smile and your gentle touch. This is a desolate place. All is silent except for a chilling wind that moans above us. It is a ghost voice taunting us, telling us we will not survive. We are cut off on all sides. The heavily armed German military surrounds us. This is a deep blow, because we had forced the Germans closer and closer to their own border. Their retaliation was swift and unforgiving, an onslaught no one saw coming.

At present, no supplies can reach us. Every attempt has failed. Our rations landed in the German camps. Many nights we go hungry. We must conserve what little food we have. But we are holding the line. If this bulge is broken, the German Army will invade. We have no choice but to do our job, so much rests on the outcome.

I no longer count how many days we’ve been here. I no longer awaken and think that perhaps today will be our last. Sometimes, it feels like we will never leave. It almost seems like justice that we all die in this hard, unforgiving, frozen ground. So many of us have already fallen. What right do the rest of us have to live?

And yet, I know I will not die here. I will return home. I will return to you. You are the only warmth I have, especially since the winter here is so brutal. Our winter gear did not make it to us, so we are in warm weather uniforms. I don’t remember what it’s like to awaken without shivering.

I have heard that word reached the States about our previous campaigns. I hear we are called heroes. This seems so strange to me. I am no hero. Yes, we were trained, but when the real drop occurred, we landed splintered and awkward. But somewhere between bullets that sang past us and the ground, our training took over. Once down, we became the unit we were in the States. Rick landed near me, promising to watch my back. We’ve kept each other alive on more than one occasion. But Rick seems different now. There is a hopelessness that dwells in his eyes. I fear for him. This place will break many of us, if not through open wounds, through those that are hidden.

Gracie, when you write to me next time, tell me about the beach again. In your last letter you told me about you and Sara swimming with the dolphin. It was so wonderful to read, I almost felt like I was there, the sunshine on my face and you in my arms. You are the one thing that makes this bearable.

All my love,

William

Sammie was quiet for a long time. “You did find a treasure in your attic.”

“Yes.” Adrienne wondered about William now. Maybe the war had turned him into a bitter, angry old man. Her heart sank a little thinking about that. People changed, but rarely for the better.

Adrienne crossed town, headed for Leo’s Diner. Her car windows were down, allowing Florida’s salty coastal wind to reach in the windows and muss her hair. She relished it. After all, southern Florida was her dream, with its perfect weather and tropical vibe. She’d wanted to move here since they’d vacationed on Sanibel Island a few years back. It’s what Eric had promised her, but never delivered. So she was committed to enjoying every sunny day Bonita Springs would produce. It was early June now, and splatters of new flowers were beginning to spring up everywhere. She’d been there since March and didn’t think it was possible for everything to get greener, but as summer approached, it had. The rainy season ushered in with it the explosion of new foliage.

She tried to concentrate on what she might plant in her front yard, but thoughts of where she was headed and what she was about to do kept interrupting. Twice she nearly turned the car around and went home. But something compelled her. She knew she was becoming obsessed with this couple, but couldn’t help herself. A nagging thought kept haunting her mind. Where was Gracie? These letters were hers. She would never have left them behind.

Leo Sanderson was a wiry, eighty-three-year-old man who still walked to his diner every day. Early each morning, he trekked the block and a half, turned on the open sign, and greeted his regulars while pouring them a cup of his deadly strong coffee. He stayed until two, made the trek home, and did it all again the next day. As he was a well-known Bonita Springs character, Adrienne had heard the stories. She’d only visited the diner a couple times, but he’d made it a point to greet her and offer her coffee on both occasions.

Already having been warned about the brew, now she’d opted for iced tea. She took a seat near the front door and waited to speak with him. It was nearly two o’clock when he finally made his way over. With an upturned palm, she motioned for him to sit. He put the coffee pot down on the Formica table, as was his custom when he’d visit and joke with customers.