eight years his junior. He was in his mid-60s when Harry met him, but his simple nature made him seem younger. He was an accomplished furniture-maker, he was dependable, and he was as loyal as a German shepherd. Since he was six feet, six inches tall and had T.D.âs dark, dangerous looks, he could be an imposing figure to those who didnât know him, but he would never harm anyone unless he felt he or his family was threatened.
Harry was treated well by the six older Crowders. When he wasnât there, though, they tried to gently warn Ruth against getting too deeply involved with someone ânot of your religion.â She never told them that they had nothing to worry about, that the elegant Harry Stein was not about to marry some little country Presbyterian girl. She allayed their fears mainly by telling them that she was playing the field. She would go out occasionally with some boy from town, and she claimed she dated other soldiers whom she met at the various dances and socials that some church or civic group was always having that winter.
But Ruth had no other prospects; she wasnât looking for any. It seemed to her and Harry that they had lived the same lives in very different worlds. They were both their class salutatorians, laughed at the same jokes, had the same doubts about the existence of God that few, especially before and during the war, voiced. They never talked about it much, but they had the same physical needs, the same sexual timing and appetites. They had been together no more than a month when they started noticing how often they had the same thoughts at the same time.
I was kidnapped from a good Presbyterian home, Harry would tell her, and forced to live a life without barbecue or bacon, a life of circumscription and circumcision. Pity me, Ruth would say, born to a wealthy Jewish family and spirited away by Protestant gypsies, sold to a family that forced me to learn all the books of the New Testament, to dress Christmas trees and boil Easter eggs.
The weeks and months passed quickly, between the warm September night they met and that freezing, frantic February day at the train station in Newport, when they promised to write and to love and to remember.
It had all happened so fast. Harry remembers being more or less force-marched to his destinyâthe hurried, excited news that his platoon was moving out, the call home, the instant wedding plans that seemed to suck him into their vortex. Until that weekend, he had switched his mind from one future to the other, lying in the barracks and staring at the pale ceiling in the dark, never letting go of either option, not really. Now, suddenly, he realized he was more ready for war than for this split. He couldnât move and was thus moved by others.
Harry didnât really deceive Ruth. She knew he was engaged. But she didnât know that, within 48 hours, he would be married.
And she didnât really withhold the truth, either. Hanging on to him that cheerless day, she only suspected, and she wasnât sure yet whether to fear or hope.
SIX
Everyone is talking at once around the dining-table cold cuts, and Hank feels dizzy, as if the words were spinning him around. When Naomi slips outside, he soon follows her, unnoticed. He craves the quiet and cool as much as the rare chance to talk with his older sister.
When he closes the sliding-glass door, Naomi jumps, short and quick as if sheâs just run across a carpet and touched metal.
âOh,â she says, âitâs you.â
It is strange to Hank, an athlete himself once, that someone of Naomiâs caliber could be so nervous. How, he wonders, did she bear the strain of competition at that level? The least unexpected movement seems to unhinge her. Maybe the hair-trigger reflexes were an aid to a swimmer, maybe they got her into the water a hundredth of a second before anyone else. And the jumpiness hasnât just happened. Hank can barely remember her not
Harry was treated well by the six older Crowders. When he wasnât there, though, they tried to gently warn Ruth against getting too deeply involved with someone ânot of your religion.â She never told them that they had nothing to worry about, that the elegant Harry Stein was not about to marry some little country Presbyterian girl. She allayed their fears mainly by telling them that she was playing the field. She would go out occasionally with some boy from town, and she claimed she dated other soldiers whom she met at the various dances and socials that some church or civic group was always having that winter.
But Ruth had no other prospects; she wasnât looking for any. It seemed to her and Harry that they had lived the same lives in very different worlds. They were both their class salutatorians, laughed at the same jokes, had the same doubts about the existence of God that few, especially before and during the war, voiced. They never talked about it much, but they had the same physical needs, the same sexual timing and appetites. They had been together no more than a month when they started noticing how often they had the same thoughts at the same time.
I was kidnapped from a good Presbyterian home, Harry would tell her, and forced to live a life without barbecue or bacon, a life of circumscription and circumcision. Pity me, Ruth would say, born to a wealthy Jewish family and spirited away by Protestant gypsies, sold to a family that forced me to learn all the books of the New Testament, to dress Christmas trees and boil Easter eggs.
The weeks and months passed quickly, between the warm September night they met and that freezing, frantic February day at the train station in Newport, when they promised to write and to love and to remember.
It had all happened so fast. Harry remembers being more or less force-marched to his destinyâthe hurried, excited news that his platoon was moving out, the call home, the instant wedding plans that seemed to suck him into their vortex. Until that weekend, he had switched his mind from one future to the other, lying in the barracks and staring at the pale ceiling in the dark, never letting go of either option, not really. Now, suddenly, he realized he was more ready for war than for this split. He couldnât move and was thus moved by others.
Harry didnât really deceive Ruth. She knew he was engaged. But she didnât know that, within 48 hours, he would be married.
And she didnât really withhold the truth, either. Hanging on to him that cheerless day, she only suspected, and she wasnât sure yet whether to fear or hope.
SIX
Everyone is talking at once around the dining-table cold cuts, and Hank feels dizzy, as if the words were spinning him around. When Naomi slips outside, he soon follows her, unnoticed. He craves the quiet and cool as much as the rare chance to talk with his older sister.
When he closes the sliding-glass door, Naomi jumps, short and quick as if sheâs just run across a carpet and touched metal.
âOh,â she says, âitâs you.â
It is strange to Hank, an athlete himself once, that someone of Naomiâs caliber could be so nervous. How, he wonders, did she bear the strain of competition at that level? The least unexpected movement seems to unhinge her. Maybe the hair-trigger reflexes were an aid to a swimmer, maybe they got her into the water a hundredth of a second before anyone else. And the jumpiness hasnât just happened. Hank can barely remember her not
Similar Books
Scandalous Heroes Box Set
Serenity King, Pepper Pace, Aliyah Burke, Erosa Knowles, Latrivia Nelson, Tianna Laveen, Bridget Midway, Yvette Hines
