Kristina McMorris - Letters From Home

Morgan almost wished he’d packed some tape for this particular trip.

“Forgive me, Reverend Frank, for I have sinned. Again.” Charlie genuflected like the devout Catholic his mother had hoped he’d become.

Frank scratched the crook in his nose and continued browsing the latest issue of Yank magazine. He didn’t bother to fake interest. When it came to Charlie’s racy tales, Jack always showed enough for them both.

“Okay, Chap, let’s hear it,” Jack said, a smile in his eyes. “Which one of the twins did ya end up with? The one with the knockers or the long stems?”

“Are you kiddin’? I was too much man for them dames. Scared ’em off with these enormous cannons.” He flexed his biceps as if he had the physique of Captain America. When Frank tossed the magazine at his head, Charlie sank back into his seat and grinned. “Did some neckin’ with the broad from the coffee shop, though.”

Jack crumpled his face. “The one with bad teeth?”

“No, you dumbbell. The tasty dish with glasses.”

Frank turned to Jack. “Well, that explains it. She needs a new prescription.”

“Ha, ha. You’re hysterical.” Charlie removed his soft garrison cap and rubbed his hair with both hands.

If only their mom could see him now. She used to say that someday girls would go wild over his golden waves. That they’d even be willing to pay to run their fingers through them.

It’s funny the things you remember. Morgan regretted not paying more attention, regretted not seeing the truth behind his father’s lie. Charlie had only been eight, but Morgan, at eleven, should have known better. Farm families avoided doctors like the plague. When he watched his parents climb into their old pickup truck that cold January night headed for the hospital, he should have realized their mother was never coming back.

“Hey, speaking of hysterical,” Jack said, pulling Morgan from his thoughts. “Went to a tattoo joint last night. Rev ended up knocking the owner’s lights out. You gotta see it—the stupid sap put ‘Joan’ instead of ‘June’ in the big ol’ heart on Rev’s arm.”

Frank’s lips flattened into steel rails, his dark eyes trained on Jack. “And you think that’s funny, do ya?”

“Look at the bright side,” Charlie interjected. “Instead of Joan, it could’ve said John. ” He punctuated his wisecrack with a grin.

Frank picked up his magazine from the carpeted floor, still eying Jack. “At least mine don’t make me look like Mussolini’s branded cattle, ya dope.” A jab at the unfortunate birthmark on Jack’s collarbone, shaped like a sideways stamp of Italy, was one of the few ways to ensure the last word with the guy.

“So, uh, Mac, what about you?” Jack shifted the spotlight. “Get chummy with the brunette you went after?”

Morgan coughed into his fist, the question taking him off guard. “Nah. Not really.” Considering how Liz had given him the brush-off, their encounter was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “How about you fellas? What else you wind up doing?”

Frank crossed his arms. His expression lightened. “Chap, I believe your brother’s trying to change the subject.”

“It’s all right, Mac,” Jack assured him. “You shouldn’t be ashamed. First time getting lucky can be a scary experience for any young man.” He grinned, impressed by his own sarcasm.

“What a coincidence,” Charlie said to Jack, “I’ve heard that dames think every time is scary with you.”

“Can it, both of ya.” Frank angled to Morgan and jerked a nod. “Go ahead, Mac. You were sayin’?”

Morgan suddenly wished he’d jumped off the train after all. “Really, there’s nothing to tell. She just had to skip out early.”

“You’re saying she ditched a McClain?” Jack asked in mock disbelief.

“Not his fault,” Frank said. “If I was her and knew he was related to Chap, I’d double-time it outta there too.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie said. “Well, it just so happens that last night—on account of yours truly—my brother reeled in a broad any fella would give his left nut for a chance at.”

Morgan tightened his eyes at him. “What are you yappin’ about?”

“You have an admirer,” Charlie sang out in a taunting voice he never outgrew.

“Sure it was a girl?” Jack smirked.

“Not just any girl,” Charlie said. “That looker from the USO.”

In an instant, Liz’s face flashed in Morgan’s mind, clear as rain. Wary, though, of being a sucker in one of his brother’s juvenile pranks, he played it cool. “You’re full of it,” he muttered.

“I’m serious. Said she was searching all over for you.”

“Yeah? Where’d you run into her?”

“At the dance. Where else?” Charlie’s tone indicated he wasn’t horsing around. “I went back to find ya. She heard me asking about you. Told me you two had twirled some, but then you flew the coop.”

Morgan straightened, his thoughts racing: How could he have missed her? Did she come back after he left?

“Well, spit it out. What’d she say?” Morgan demanded. “Said she wanted to keep in touch. So,” he said, “being the dutiful brother I am, I gave her the Army address for forwarding.” He reached into the chest pocket of his shirt and produced a small rectangular note. “Here, this is for you.”

A broad grin latched onto Morgan’s face as he retrieved the gift. A scribbled message spanned three lines. His heart pumped like an oil rig as he imagined her voice delivering the words.

To Morgan,

Take care of yourself.

Betty Cordell

Morgan’s mind pinched in confusion. “Betty Cordell?” He flipped over the paper and discovered it was a photograph, a black-and-white close-up of the girl from the dance. Just not the girl he was hoping for. He managed a closed-lipped smile as angst revisited his gut.

“Damn, Chap,” Jack said, “you didn’t say it was the foxy blond singer.” He snatched the wallet-sized keepsake from Morgan’s fingers. “I can’t believe you got a dance with her, you lucky bastard. Where the hell was I?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Charlie said. “She only wanted Fred Astaire, here. Must have a thing for his fancy promenades and do-si-dos.”

Morgan flicked his brother’s temple. “Dry up, why don’t ya.”

“Man, that’s so unfair,” Jack grumbled, ogling the image until Frank swiped the photo.

“No need to get jealous,” Charlie told him. “I’m sure she’s got a few friends who would gladly talk to you outta pity.”

“All this from a kid who hasn’t hit puberty.” Jack launched his toothpick with a puff. “Enough of this shit. Are we playing cards, or what?” Not waiting for an answer, he began dealing them out, each card featuring pinup models in garters and brassieres.

Morgan gazed out the window at the passing urban scenery. It was his first trip to the East Coast, his first journey out of the Mid-west. Across the ocean, a battle-raging continent awaited their platoon, but all he could think about was Liz.

Chapter 4

July 15, 1944 Evanston, Illinois

All day, Liz had avoided opening the envelope. She sat on the rumbling bus, staring at her name and address penned in Professor Emmett Stephens’s meticulous longhand. Like the best of carnival fortunetellers, she could report what was inside before even breaking the seal.

Dear Elizabeth,

I trust life is keeping you well. I was extremely pleased with your academic marks from last term. Your decision to take extra classes this summer is commendable.

I leave tomorrow for New York to guest lecture at several universities. I shall return to Washington D.C. in approximately three weeks. Should you need to reach me in the interim, my secretary at Georgetown will have my itinerary and contact information.